These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth
by Vain
Summary: It was a good plan, a simple plan . . . He only wanted to teach Ken a lesson . . . And then everything went wrong. Yoai, TAIKEN, and a long overdue talk coming your way. CH 13:15- Talking of Michelangelo up.
1. Le Petite Prince

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, **Kinslayer** just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.  

If you're not and you didn't, then please: 

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_" 'When you're huntin' somepin' you're a hunter, an' you're strong.  Can't nobody beat a hunter.  But when you get hunted—that's different.  Somepin' happens to you.  You ain't strong; maybe you're fierce, but you ain't strong.  _**

I been hunted now for a long time.  I ain't a hunter no more.' " 

**-John Steinbeck**

**The Grapes of Wrath******

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter One:**

**Le Petit Prince**

**------------------ & ------------------**

His eyes were distant—they were always distant, Rika knew, but today seemed special.  He seemed just a little bit colder today.  She gingerly placed the plates on the table.  Every time he moved nowadays she wanted to flinch.  Every time he spoke, she'd hold her breath like what he was saying was something precious to be remembered for eternity.  He didn't speak often anymore, at least not to them, and sometimes she ached to hear his quiet analytical music.  Every time he so much as shifted his weight she would stare.  If she blinked he might disappear again.  Sometimes she wondered if he already had and she just hadn't noticed yet. 

Tsuyoshi came in, head buried in his newspaper.  Had he always read the newspaper so much?  Rika wasn't sure and it wasn't really that important at the moment.  The food was getting cold.  The petite woman moved quickly and gracefully from the dining area to the adjacent kitchen.  Deft hands lifted the pot and returned to the dining room.  Three trips later, the table was set and Rika stood patiently behind her chair.  Tsuyoshi remained standing and still read his paper.  He wouldn't put it down until he had to—dinner was not exactly a pleasant event in their household anymore.  But they wouldn't be ready until he stopped staring out the window and came to the table like he was supposed to. 

 . . . Like he was supposed to.  He always did what he was supposed to.  Perhaps that was the problem.  

He still didn't move.  Rika wondered if he was still breathing.  It wouldn't surprise her if he had died standing there like that, standing so still like that.  He could have stopped breathing and stayed frozen there, staring out of the window like it held all the secrets to life—like it could save him.

"Ken?"

Tsu looked up from his paper as her voice shattered the silence.

Their son didn't move.

" . . . Ken . . .?"

The boy turned around slowly and flowed over to the table.  Ichijouji Ken didn't walk—he flowed.  He stood behind his chair patiently.  It was a tradition, older than Rika knew, that Tsuyoshi sit down first.  The head of the Ichijouji household folded his paper and sat and then Ken and Rika also took their places.  The boy stared down at his plate blankly.  His mother cast him a quick glance before turning to her husband.

She smiled a painful plastic smile.  "So how was work, dear?"  

Tsu looked up, not surprised by the question, but merely taken aback by the discord between the smile on her face and the look in her eyes. He shouldn't be anymore, though. A pall had fallen over the entire household after Ken had vanished. It had intensified when he returned.

The man smile his own tense smile for appearance's sake and reached for a bowl of rice. "It was alright. The project will be done soon, maybe even by the end of next month. I might be home more after that. It depends on how well we do."

Rika nodded a bit. She knew that he wouldn't be home more--he was never home--but the fiction was pleasant and harmless enough as those sorts of things went. 

Ken remained silent and accepted the rice from his father. 

"How was school today, sport?" the man asked as he piled some sort of meat product in a watery brown sauce on his food. It was his turn to go through the motions.

Rice landed on Ken's plate with a splat. "Fine."

". . ." Tsu cast his wife a glance, pleading for help. She seemed to be able to draw Ken out at times. The boy's father had never really been able to relate to his youngest son. Now Osamu . . . there was an uncomplicated boy that a man could be proud to call son.

"What did you do today?" Rika asked hesitantly. "You had a physics exam today, right?"

He looked up then, violet eyes flat and almost clinical. He looked like he was staring at some sort of unknown insect that had happened to wander onto the slide of his microscope for his viewing pleasure, not like he was sitting at the table and looking at his mother. She shifted in the heavy silence, the edges of her lips twitching as though holding onto that fake smile was too much strain.

The youth cocked his head a bit, his statement never changing. "I got a 100." There was no arrogance or pride in his voice. He was merely stating a fact. "It was the top mark in the class. I signed up for a chess tournament as well. Also, tomorrow's soccer game was postponed. The league has discovered that the other team was cheating and now they have to reschedule it with one of the other semi-finalist teams."

He picked up his chopsticks and looked at his rice again, duty completed.

Rika's face relaxed a tad as she let that awful smile fade a bit. It had been a report--nothing more, nothing less. There had been no revelations or insights or emotion in it. He may as well have been discussing the proper use for a ballpoint pen. But at least he had answered. That was all they could really hope for these days. That he would answer and, for just an instant, that they could be part of his world. That he would even condescend (for they now recognized it as a condescension for him) to give them a sliver of his precious attention. It was amazing the things that you could learn to live with.

Halfway through the meal Ken placed his chopsticks down on the table. "I'm not that hungry."

His parents said nothing as he stood, pushed his chair back in, and left the room, headed towards his bedroom. Nothing that they could have said would matter. Ken's rice, the only thing that he had put on his plate, was untouched and had gone cold by the time Rika cleared the table.

**------------------ & ------------------ **

**Chapter Two:**

**I Sought Affliction**

**The truth about stars and a telephone call brings news.**

**------------------ & ------------------**

A/N: The chapter title "Le Petit Prince" is French for "The Little Prince" and is an allusion to a book of the same title written by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.  An online version of the book in the original French as well as in English, Slovenian, and Polish can be found here: http://galeb.etf.bg.ac.yu/mp/ .

**------------------ & ------------------**


	2. I Sought Affliction

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, **Kinslayer** just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.  

If you're not and you didn't, then please: 

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_"When on rises above the individual villainy displayed by the masses, one can only pity them all, just as we shall be pitied someday."_**

**-Authur Miller**

**_The Crucible_**

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Two:**

**I Sought Affliction**

**------------------ & ------------------**

Ken wrapped his arms tight around himself as though trying to crush himself in his own embrace.  His head was tilted back and the wind whipped around him angrily, frustrated that he had defied the warning chill of November and come up to the roof.  His head was tilted all the way back and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the heavy sky.  There were stars up there, he knew.  But this was Tokyo—there were too many lights for the stars to come out.  They were up there, but forever invisible.  Invisible until all the lights in the world went out.  He'd like to see that someday.

_"The stars sure are pretty tonight, aren't they, Osamu?"_

_The other boy leaned over the balcony rail and looked up, his violet eyes surveying the sky dispassionately.  "Stars are the visible result of chemical reactions between pockets of gas coalesced in the void of space by the gravitational pull created by the presence of other stars.  It's a self-perpetuating chain of events, nothing more."_

_The little boy's shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground.  "Oh."_

_Sam watched his brother for a moment; a spasm of regret quickly slid across his face and then vanished.  "Yeah, Ken.  They sure are pretty."_

He sighed then, his breath fogging in the cold air.  "Pockets of gas, nothing more."

It had been a long time; for him one year was a long time.  One year since he'd retrieved his partner's egg.  One year since he'd felt the digital sun.  One year since he'd watched his army perform maneuvers.  One year since he'd last sat in his control room.  One year since he'd ruled the world.  

Having power changes a person.  It settles deep in your soul and seeks out the dark places.  It hunkers down and chills your heart.  It infests your body and drains you soul even as it enflames your mind.  The more power you have, the more profound the effect is.  For Ken power—control—was a drug.  It was something that was almost sexual.  The crack of the whip . . . The fear in their eyes . . . Dominating . . . Subjugating.  Oh, gods, how he wanted it!  The taste of it, the feel . . . But he couldn't have it.  Not anymore.

Now he had to sit still like a good boy.  Fold his hands like a good boy.  Smile for the cameras like a good boy.  Do his homework like a good boy.  Play nice like a good boy.  Be good like a good boy.  Be charismatic like a good boy.  Be kind like a good boy even though he wanted nothing more than scream and punch and kick and hurt and destroy and yell and wrapped his hands around their scrawny necks and bash their fucking heads against the ground again and again and again until the blood flowed everywhere and they all stopped screaming and whining and bitching and demanding and smiling like the damnable mindless puppets they were and—

"Ken, dear?"

He stiffened, unwrapping his arms from around his waist and dropping his head down.  "Yes, Mother?"

"The phone . . . um . . . someone's called . . . for you . . ."

He sighed.  "Yes, Mother.

He waited until she had gone again before looking up at the sky.  Deep down inside, a part of him lamented the fact that he couldn't see the stars, but to look at him, you wouldn't have been able to tell.  

The stairwell leading back into the building was narrow and neglected and the light was a disgusting burnt yellow color, like old paper.  Ken liked it.  It looked like he felt inside: empty, alone, discolored, small, and neglected.  Sometimes he considered burning the entire building down just so that he could watch that stairwell burn.  Perhaps it would be cleansing.

His mother handed him the phone when he entered the apartment, flinching back from his touch as though he were poison.  He didn't notice.  "Ichijouji Ken."

_"Hey, Mon Capitan-kun!!"_

The distinctive blend of French and Japanese made the edges of Ken's lips twitch ever so slightly towards a smile.  Barring Wormmon, there was only one person in the world who would dare you such an honorific or disrespectful tone of voice in reference to Ichijouji Ken: Tanuki Minokichi.  

Tanuki Minokichi was almost as much of a legend in Tamachi School for the Gifted as Ken himself was.  White haired, blue eyed, tall, and slicker than a snake dipped in oil, the Coon (Tanuki means raccoon in Japanese) was American born and Japanese bred.  The boy had moved from Pittsburgh, U.S.A. to Tamachi, Japan when he was five.  He was also 100% red, white, and blue blooded American.  Two months ago when he had transferred to the gifted private school, the very first thing he did was join the soccer team.  The second thing he did was get into a fistfight with Ichijouji Ken and get the crap beat out of him, the third he did was stand up, wipe the blood off his mouth, dust himself off, and proceed to attach himself to the caustic young genius's side.  He was a prankster, a troublemaker, smart-alecky, and dangerously manipulative. 

At first Ken had merely ignored this insane boy who seemed to be the only person willing to try to penetrate Ken's walls, then he merely suffered him in silence.  After over a month, Ken discovered that the foreigner was actually intelligent, engaging, and not the least bit intimidated by either the former despot or his infamous cold rages.  More importantly, he didn't give a damn about Ichijouji Ken the genius—he didn't even know or care whom Ken was when they met—he just liked Ken.  He liked Ken's confidence, his powerful presence, his silence, his egotism, and even his barely concealed sadism.  It was something of a novelty to Ken and he eventually deemed the other boy worthy of his attention. 

They weren't friends, though, and they both knew it.  If the partnership became disadvantage to either or them, both boys were more than prepared to drop the "deadweight."  Coon just happened to be closer to Ken than anybody else in Tamachi.  They weren't even rivals.  Tanuki's IQ was +2 above the mean.  Ken's was +3.  It was an odd relationship, but advantageous to the both of them.  Ken was a shield that Coon could hide behind when he pushed people just a little too far and Tanuki provided an excellent foil against which Ken's obedience, intelligence, and overall superiority shone like the sun.    Moreover, the partnership was more often than not regarded as friendship by their parents and provided both boys with a bit of ever-craved breathing space.

"What do you want, Tanuki?"  Ever anti-conformist, Ken flat out refused to call Tanuki "Coon."

The Coon snickered.  _"I take it you haven't heard."_

"Enlighten me."

_"The game's back on schedule.  We're playing Odaiba tomorrow."_

"They weren't next in line."

_"They are now.  Motomiya's on that team, as I recall.  He's not half bad.  Not half good, either, but he's better than those other nitwits.  This should prove to be interesting."_

There came a long silence, not unusual when Ken was involved, but Coon sensed something intense in the pale boy's lack of response.  

_"Still there, mon Capitan?"_

"Yes."

_"Everything copasetic?  You're not stressed over Motomiya because he stopped last year, are you?"_

"No.  Motomiya is nothing for me to be concerned about anymore.  Goodbye, Tanuki."

He hung up the phone.   

Ken brushed past his mother on his way to his bedroom.  She asked him something, but he merely closed the door in her face. 

"Ken-chan?"  A small green head appeared over the edge of the bed as he locked the door behind him.  "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes.  Go back to sleep Wormmon."

The digimon vanished again and Ken began to strip.  Shoes, jacket, undershirt, pants, socks, underwear: he removed them all with smooth silent motions until he stood completely naked.  He picked up the discarded clothing and walked over to the closet where they were unceremoniously dumped in a hamper.  There was a full-length mirror hanging on the inside of his closet door and he took the opportunity to study his nude reflection critically for a moment.  

His skin was smooth and pale.  Dozens of angry slashes adorned the white flesh in various states of healing.  Some were years old.  Six had been done this morning.  He ignored them and frowned at his abdomen.

Thin.  He was just too damned thin.  He placed the tips of his right hand on his solar plexus, right in the center of his chest, and pushed down hard.  What little complexion he had fled beneath the pressure.  He removed his hand and watched as the blood rushed back, giving the skin a ruddy tint. He dropped his hand to his side and continued his inspection.  His ribs were visible, but not prominent, and his stomach was flat and well defined.  His hips protruded just a tiny bit and were unusually sharp for a male, adding to what he considered to be his extremely effeminate looks.  His penis was soft and rather uninteresting looking nestled in a bed of indigo pubic hair.  He sneered.  Indigo.  What a ri-goddamn-diculous color.  His legs were long and very muscular, like a racing horse.  

The boy stiffened as he felt eyes on his skin; no, not his skin—his scars.  Indigo hair flared out as his head snapped around to spy Wormmon gazing at him from the bed.  

"Ken-chan . . .?" a hesitant voice sounded from the bed.

The human turned around and dropped his head down to his chest.

"Ken—"

"They'll all be at the soccer game tomorrow," he interrupted the virus without looking up.

Wormmon was silent, unsure of what he should—could—say.  

"I'll have to face them."

The digimon wriggled his way free of the blanket and hopped off the bed, landing with a grunt.  He puttered his way over to Ken and nuzzled his ankle.  "I'm here Ken-chan.  Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"I wasn't talking about them, Ken-chan."

Tears tracked down Ken's cheeks.  He made no effort to brush them aside; brushing them aside would acknowledge that he was falling apart inside, that he was crying at all.  He fought crying like his worst enemy.  "I know," he murmured to the precious little creature on the ground.

Wormmon heard it and sighed.

**------------- & -------------**

_ "What is it like to be dead, Osamu?"_

_"W—what?"_

_"What is it like to die?"_

_"Why do you ask me such questions?"_

_". . . I'm sorry, Oniichan."_

_"Are you happy, Kenny-boy?"_

_"Of course I'm happy, Oniichan.  I have you."_

_"Then hush and do not speak of such things."_

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Three:**

Cassant le Dôme du Verre de la Rose 

**Meet Tanuki!  ****Plus, Taichi's on a mission . . . ****But to do what?  And more importantly _why_??**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	3. Cassant le Dôme du Verre de la Rose

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, **Kinslayer** just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.  

If you're not and you didn't, then please: 

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------******

**_"I know people consider me a bad man! . . . Let them!  _**

**_I don't care one straw about anyone but those I love; but those I love, I love so I would give my life for them, and the others I'd throttle if they stood in my way."_**

**-Leo Tolstoy**

**War and Peace**

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Three:**

 Cassant le Dôme du Verre de la Rose 

**------------------ & ------------------**

Yagami Taichi squinted as the afternoon sunlight bounced off of his goggles; goggles that just happened to be perched jauntily on Motomiya Daisuke's head. 

"I can't wait," the younger boy was babbling in his particular Daisuke way.  "This is so gonna rock!!!"

Demi V-mon bounced up and down.  "You can take him, Dai!"

Tai grimaced and raised a hand to squint across the field.  He was over there, of course.  Tai knew it.  He could feel it as sure as he could feel the blood in his veins.

"You won't be able to see him, Tai," a gentle voice chided quietly for his ears alone.

The original Child of Courage dropped his hand and brushed Yamato aside moodily.  "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ishida."

The blond scowled and turned to the others.  "Taichi and I are gonna go snag seats."

"Nothing in the sun," Mimi called out as he turned to catch up to his best friend.  "I just wreaks havoc on my sensitive skin!"

He waved a hand behind him, jogging to catch up to the other teen.  "Tai, wait up!  Taichi!  Damnit Tai, just let him go!  Ichijouji isn't worth it!!"

Taichi stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face the Child of Friendship.  Thinly veiled fury burned in his eyes, looking like it would consume him if it didn't find an outlet soon.  "It wasn't Gabumon, Matt, so just shut up!  You don't know!"

"Tai, you can't just—"

"Matt, you either go away or shut up right now, understand me?  I won't be swayed on this, I won't!"

" . . ." The blond sighed heavily and looked away.  He shook his head and walked past him towards the stands.  He paused there a moment and turned.  "Don't hurt him, Tai.  You'll regret it."

"I doubt that."

The two boys stared at one another for a long chilly moment and then Yamato turned again, stamping up the bleachers like a sullen child.  Tai stared after him with narrowed eyes before following after him.  The others gathered up the digimon and slowly straggled up to sit with them after giving Daisuke all the encouragement he needed to go out and trash the former Kaiser—or at least to try.  

They had all come out today.  Jyou had skipped class, Mimi had traveled by Digiport all the way from New York, and Iori canceled his Kendo lesson.  This would be the first time in over a year that they had last seen Ichijouji Ken.  After the destruction of Wormmon and Kimeramon, the despot had reportedly staggered off into the desert never to be seen in the Digital World again.  

The neo-kids, in fact all the Digidestined, were grateful that Ichijouji had vanished.  What would they say?  What could they say?  There was a massive gulf between them, Yamato knew, and a large part of it was guilt—not just his guilt, but theirs as well.  They had never faced a human enemy before and upon seeing the kids' faces when they got home—the tension around Hikari's mouth, the way TK avoided his eyes, the emptiness in Daisuke's gaze—the musician knew that seeing the once indomitable Kaiser humbled had proven that he was indeed human.  And the knowledge that they had played a part in breaking down, crushing, another human being, worse—a kid just like them—was simply something too heavy for them to bear and digidestiny be damned.  Ken's seclusion was a gift to them.  All they ever saw was cool, calm, and collected Ichijouji Ken smiling for the camera, scoring goals, and being Ichijouji Ken as though he had never even heard the word "Digidestined."  They needed the fiction and were more than happy to pursue it.

All except Tai, of course.

The original goggle boy had never forgiven Ichijouji for harming Agumon—he couldn't.  But it was more than that of course.  Yamato knew Tai like few other people did and it was simple for him to see that his friend had merely merged his frustration at being unable to protect Agumon, his guilt over their role in Ichijouji's breakdown, his happiness that the digimon were safe and probably some other emotions he was unaware of into this profound . . . preoccupation . . . with the dark-haired genius.  Yama was at quite a loss. 

It seemed that the only way for Taichi to return to his old self was for him to exorcise his demons.  This exorcism would unfortunately involving beating the prominent Ichijouji Ken within an inch of his bloodstained, undeserved life.  That would be very unsubtle.  Not to mention the fact that Ichijouji himself was dangerously unpredictable.  Plus there was no telling how much more his defeat may have affected his already tenuous grip on sanity.   

Which brought them all to today.

Sora settled down next to Yama, a dark frown marring her pleasant features.  "Well?"

The blond shook his head moodily.  "I don't know what he's going to do, but it's not going to be pretty."

She made an odd hissing noise as she sucked the air in between clenched teeth.  "Then do something to _stop_ him."   

"Like?"

"I don't know; you're his best friend.  You think of something."

"I didn't know you were so fond of our little emperor."

The redhead cast him a scathing glance out of the corner of her eye.  "It's not Ichijouji that I'm worried about.  I've never seen Tai like this.  It's just not like him."

The Child of Friendship shook his head and his blue eyes seemed to frost over.  "Just let things play out, Sora.  Trust him."

Sora glared at the field.  "I do trust him, Yama, but I also don't want this to get out of hand.  Ichijouji has his life and we have ours.  We should just let well enough alone."

Yama set his lips in a harsh line and made no reply.  The others all trooped up after boosting Dai's ego and sat down chattering about anything other than the soccer game.  Taichi sat next to his sister and behind Yamato, where he wouldn't have to deal with the blonde's reproaches.  The others were all aware of Taichi's opinions on the forbidden Ichijouji subject, but they said nothing.

By the time the game began, Yama had almost forgotten about the thick layer of tension beneath everyone's casual appearances.  At least, he had until Tamachi took the field.

**------------- & -------------**

Ken flicked his hair from his eyes as he walked out onto the field.  Coon was at his side absorbing all the attention he could by walking with the famous Ichijouji Ken.  Ken had given the pale boy a flat look and called him a vapid twit, but they both knew that he didn't really bother him.  In response to this, the Coon just laughed and blew the crowd kisses.

The Odaiba kids were already waiting for Tamachi to take their places and Ken was both pleased and disappointed to note that Daisuke was now on defense.  He had hoped to face the leader of the Digidestined one on one.

"You up to this, mon Capitan-kun?  Or do you wanna go back to the sidelines?"

Tanuki's scathing words earned him a sharp glance as Ken took his place as center.  The white-haired boy smirked and sauntered off to the left to play forward, amused beyond words at the threat behind his friend's eyes.  He was well aware that Ken both could and would hurt him badly if he ever pushed the genius too far, but it was simply too amusing to _not_ push him.

"Mind you mouth and keep your eyes on the ball, Rat," Ken warned as he brushed his long hair from his eyes.  

The Odaiba center, a boy with green hair and braces who stood two inches taller than him, stepped forward and gave Ken an appraising look.  "So you're 'The Rocket,' huh?" The boy let his eyes trail over Ken's supple form again and snorted dismissively.  "You don't look like much."

Tanuki heard the comment and a dark scowl flickered across his face.  Some time ago, the white-haired boy had taken it upon himself to be Ken's unnecessary protector.  This had only come to Ken's attention a month before the end of the last school term when Tanuki got hauled in front of the headmaster for beating an exchange student to a pulp.  The argument had occurred entirely in English and Tanuki refused to give him the details, but Ken had later discovered that the student had thought it would be a good idea to spread some interesting rumors about Ken's sexual preferences and his relationships with certain teachers.  Tanuki had quickly put a stop to that.  

Ken had never mentioned the incident, nor had he made any attempt to modify or end the behavior.  When all was said and done, he actually approved of it.  It added to his reputation, further removed him from the student body, and—most importantly—kept him innocent of any wrongdoing.  Plus, for reasons that he was unsure of and didn't particularly care to evaluate—it felt . . . nice.  So he just let Tanuki do as he pleased.  Now, though, the boy was eyeing the Odaiba center with a murderous glint in his eyes and the very thought of what would happen if the Coon got to make a move was nearly enough to send Ken into gales of harsh laughter.   

The coach stepped between the two centers and began talking.  Ken nodded his head where appropriate and caught Tanuki's eye.  When the blue-eyed boy's gaze met his, a cruel smile danced briefly over the former Kaiser's lips—silent permission.  The Coon grinned.

Ken extended his hand and the two boys shook.  He made sure to keep his grip feathery and light and a benign smile fixed firmly into place.  As it was though, he couldn't help but let a small amount of malice slip into his voice.  "You have a good game."

The Odaiba boy sneered, a whistle blew, and Ken breezed past both the offense and defense before they could so much as blink.  This was just _too_ damn easy anymore.  

Tanuki appeared to his left, unable to keep pace with his captain, but doing his best to keep his path clear.  Ken sighed as he scored the first goal.  His eyes flickered to the clock; 19 seconds—not his best time.  

Where was Motomiya?  He had been expecting a challenge.

Tanuki jogged to his side.  "Looking for someone?"

"Motomiya," the dark-haired boy replied.  "I had wanted a challenge."

"I've got him on my side."  

A frown twitched at the edges of Ken's mouth.  There was no way Tanuki would let the Digi-brat through if he could help it.  He shrugged and jogged back to his place on the field.  

One of Tanuki's eyebrows lifted as he caught the expression. "Problem?"

"No.  Just keep their center off my back."

The other boy smirked.  "Don't worry—he'll get his."

The two separated and Ken took his place.  The whistle blew and Ken darted forward.  A second goal was score, then a third.  Daisuke's attempts to stop Ken from reaching the goal were always met by Tanuki's back or cleats, and more than once the captain of the Tamachi team watched his "worthy opponent" crash to the ground.  

The second and third quarters passed in the same fashion until the score stood at 11: 0 with Tamachi leading.  The Digidestined soccer player was practically gnashing his teeth when the teams split up for a timeout.  If Ken hadn't been so bored, he would have found the entire situation extremely amusing.

"This sucks."

"Hmm?"  Ken brushed a hand through his hair as he walked sedately to the sidelines.  

Tanuki scowled.  "If anything, from what I've heard, Odaiba's actually gotten worse since last year.  I'm way faster than Motomiya and you're running circles around that kid with the green hair.  This is embarrassing.  Why don't they just quit?"

"Quitting has never been Motomiya's forte as I recall."

Tanuki gave him an odd look, but was interrupted by the coach's excited babbling.  The man nodded his head as the two boys came to stand at the sidelines with the rest of their team.  "Great hustle out there, boys!  Keep it up!  Motomiya is supposed to be their best defense, so I want you to keep the alleys clear and . . ." 

Ken yawned and blocked the man's droning out irritable.  He was starting to feel antsy—his head was beginning to ache and the old scars on his shoulder were tingling.  For a moment he entertained the idea of shrieking at the top of his lungs, but he quickly shoved it aside.  Consequences.  He always had to worry about the damn consequences of everything.  He frowned and wondered if he had had the foresight to bring a razor blade with him . . .

A flash of movement caught his eye and he turned a bit to stare at where Odaiba was huddled.  Motomiya had detached himself away from the group and was gesturing wildly, pointing at himself and then at the green-haired center.  Ken studied the boy for a moment, straining to catch a word—something was going on over there.

**------------- & -------------**

Taichi frowned as the light sparkled off of Ichijouji's hair.  The boy was staring at Daisuke's team intently and the original goggle boy leaned forward, wishing he could somehow read what was going on in the Rocket's head.  Ichijouji watched Daisuke for a moment and then turned back to his coach, gesturing for the team to huddle a bit closer.

"What are you up to, Ichijouji?"

"'Niisan?"  Tai turned around to find his sister staring at him, a small frown marring her beauty.  "What's wrong?  Are you feeling okay?  You look pale."

He smiled at her.  "I'm fine, Hikari-chan.  Don't worry about me.  I was just wondering what Ichijouji was planning."

"What makes you think he was planning anything?"

Tai shrugged and smiled thinly.  "He was just staring at Daisuke . . . I don't know.  I'm probably just being stupid."

He turned back to the field and stiffened.  The players had taken up their positions again, but now Daisuke was playing center against some kid with white hair and Ken was facing off with Odiaba's captain as left forward.  Something in the pit of Taichi's stomach tightened . . . He didn't like this.

The whistle blew and Tai leaned forward again, eyes intent on the field.  He tried to watch Daisuke, but always found himself drawn back to Ichijouji.  The kid was _fast_—there was just no other way to put it.  And he seemed to have the ability to make even wiping the sweat and dirt off his forehead look like a photographic moment fit to be printed in the next teen heartthrob magazine.  He was small, too.  Much smaller than he had appeared when he was swathed in all those layers as the Kaiser.  Without all that extra clothing he looked fragile and almost dainty, like a porcelain doll—

"GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!"

The announcer's voice startled Tai so badly that the teenager nearly fell out of his chair.  He eyes flickered to the clock and he blanched.  There were only 58 more seconds left.  When had he blanked out for so long?

Tamachi was now leading 14 to nothing and the Odaiba players looked like they all about to drop.  The sky had begun to darken ominously and everything had turned a lead gray color, making the world look distant and washed out. 

The teams were standing ready and the ball dropped between Daisuke and the boy with white hair.  Daisuke moved forward and nearly tripped over himself when his opponent kicked the ball out from under him to the right forward.  The right forward jogged forward, dribbling the ball protectively from his guard who was starting to get touchy-feely.  He kicked the ball back to the white-haired boy who had actually faded back a bit instead of going forward.

Taichi watched his protégé try and play catch up with his opponent and scowled.  It looked like the other boy was deliberately playing with Daisuke and, judging by Dai's increasingly anxious body language, it was starting to get on the darker boy's nerves. 

The white haired youth suddenly stopped and kicked the ball directly at the green-haired head of the Odaiba left forward. The boy, who had almost been too busy trying to keep up with Ken to much attention to the ball, was so startled that he couldn't even dodge and got nailed right in the forehead.  Daisuke promptly stopped and whirled around, stumbling over a teammate and took off towards the ball with the white-haired player at his side.  

The green-haired boy scrambled to his feet just in time to see Tamachi players launch the ball towards the unguarded Ken who, amidst all the confusion, had managed to make his way half way down to the goal.  Ken caged the ball neatly and headed towards the goal with most of the Odaiba players at his back.

The kid with the white hair cut in front of Daisuke sharply, almost knocking the goggle-boy down, and made a beeline towards the boy with the green hair.  Daisuke sprinted to catch up with Ken and Tai narrowed his eyes in an attempt to locate the white haired boy again, but there were too many bodies on the field.  

Ken kicked the ball hard, sending the plastic sphere soaring at the goal just as Daisuke stepped in front of him, knocking them both to the ground.  A whistle blew as the ball slammed into the goal scant centimeters from taking the goalie's head off his shoulders and a tremendous groan seemed to leave the Odaiba side of the stadium.

The buzzer sounded and Tai sat back hard, feeling suddenly winded.  The score was 15 to 0: Tamachi.  Taichi closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands tiredly.  Dai must be so disappointed . . . People were starting to gather their things and leave.

"Hey, what's going on down there?"

"What?"  He looked over to see Hikari leaning down to stare at the field.  There was a large group of people huddled around the sideline near the 45.  "What is that?"

Takeru looked over to him from the other side of Hikari.  "It's the captain of Odaiba.  He and some kid collided.  I think he's hurt or something."

The older teen scowled slightly.  "Let's get down there.  I want to see what's up for myself."

**------------- & -------------**

Daisuke wiped the sweat of his brow and sighed.  "15, nothing . . . Jun is never gonna let me hear them end of this."  He squinted in the gray light and looked around for a familiar mop of indigo hair.

"Hey, Dai-kun!  Oi!  Daisuke!"

"Er?"  The second-generation goggle-boy grinned as he saw one of his teammates jogging over to him.  "Akugyuo!  What's up?  You look dead, man!"

Akugyou stopped and put his hands on his knees, his face red and damp looking.  "It's Kuimono."  The other boy looked up into Daisuke's eyes.  "He's hurt, Dai.  Real bad, I think.  There's blood and—"

Daisuke looked across the field and saw a crowd gathering around the 45.  He took off towards the gathering, leaving Akugyuo panting near the goal line.  "Kui-kun!"  He broke through the crowd and was surprised to see that the other Digidestined's faces among the crowd.  "Kui!"  He stopped short and felt his stomach heave at what he saw.

The green haired Odaiba center was laying on his back, his face an odd bruised green color and contorted in pain.  The boy's left arm was twisted at a disturbing angle and the flesh was rippled and bruised and bunched in a way that was just . . . wrong.  The jagged end of a broken bone protruded from a violent gash in his flesh and shined a wet unnatural white.  

Daisuke felt bile rise up to his throat and swallowed hard.  "Oh, God . . ."

Kuimono's eyes rolled back in his head.  Two white garbed medical personnel emerged from somewhere behind Daisuke and pushed their way forward, yelling at the crowd to get back.  People began to disperse and Daisuke turned away slowly to walk towards the Odaiba lines.  

The goggle-boy nearly jumped out of his skin when a sharp slap hit his shoulder and he looked over in surprise as a white haired boy looped an arm over his shoulder and grinned at him.  Daisuke blinked several times as he recognized the boy who had guarded him and kept him from Ken during the game.

"Uh . . ." He licked his lips uncertainly.  "Hey."

The Tamachi forward flicked a strand of hair out of Daisuke's eyes gently.  "Don't worry about him.  He just landed all wrong.  Some people don't know how to take a fall."

Daisuke looked back down to where the men were stabilizing Kuimono's arm to shift him over to a stretcher and winced internally at the sight of the blood.

"I'm Tanuki," the Tamachi player continued, oblivious to Daisuke's distraction.  "We—"

"Did you see what happened?" the goggle boy interrupted.

Tanuki's blue eyes narrowed for a moment in irritation, but he quickly smiled to hide it.  "Ah, yeah . . . He ran into me, actually . . . Right when Ken-kun scored a goal . . .should have paid more attention—"

Daisuke twisted out from beneath the other boy's arm, his skin crawling at the utter lack of concern in Tanuki's voice.  He stared at him, horrified and nauseous all over again.  "How . . ."

"Daisuke?"

Both boys turned to see Taichi and the other Digidestined hurriedly making their way towards the two.   A scowl flitted over Tanuki's face and he pulled back slightly.

Taichi barely spared the boy a glance as he put a comforting hand on Dai's shoulder.  "What happened?"

Dai opened his mouth, but Tanuki overran him.  "An accident.  Both myself and Kuimono-san were going for the ball and he tripped over me and fell."

Tai frowned suspiciously at the younger teen.  "You play for Tamachi?"

The boy dropped a low, mocking bow.  "Tanuki.  Tanuki Minokichi.  But my friends call me Coon."

Tai's dark eyes narrowed.  "You friends with Ichijouji?"

A muscle in the Coon's jaw twitched.  "As good a friend as he has in this world.  Why?"  He cocked his head to the side.  "You know him?"

"Actually, I was looking for him."  Tai smiled, a surprisingly hard expression on such an open face.  "I need to speak to him."

A white eyebrow lifted slightly.  "Ahhh . . . I'm afraid that that's just not possible.  Ken-kun usually leaves early after a game to avoid the press.  He's really surprisingly camera shy sometimes.  He's probably gone by now, so you'd really be better off going home."  Tanuki nodded to Daisuke then and gave the other soccer player a whimsical little half-smile.  "Take care around Ken-kun, neh?  It'd be a real shame if you took a nasty spill, an outstanding soccer player like yourself."  The boy spun on his heel, cleats digging sharply into the earth and churning up the green, and walked back over to the Tamachi line where the boys were gathering up their things to go into the locker room.

Miyako blinked owlishly behind her glasses.  "Well . . . that kid sure put the creep in creepy."

Hikari suddenly surprised everyone by throwing her arms around Daisuke's neck and hugging him close despite his sweaty, mud-stained uniform.  "Good game, Dai!  You played hard!"

The boy grinned foolishly, pausing only to stick out his tongue at a shocked Takeru.  

Unnoticed, Yamato sidled up to Tai.  "Well, you heard him, Tai-kun.  I guess we should go home."

"Mmm-mmm."  The wild-haired teen shook his head stubbornly.  "He was lying.  Ichijouji's still in the locker room.  I saw him go in there when we left the stands and I haven't seen him come out yet."

Yamato frowned slightly.  "You sure?  I mean—"

His friend smiled wryly.  "He's in there.  Trust me."

Daisuke looked up at his mentor, his expression slightly strained.  "You wanna wait around, Tai?"

"You guys may as well go home.  It could take a while."

"And miss this?"  Yamato's eyes hardened slightly.  "I wouldn't miss this for the world.  Besides, Dai still needs to change and shower."

Taichi chuckled and Takeru exchanged a worried glance with Hikari.  Sora looked up.  She wished that it would just rain already.

**------------------ & ------------------ **

**Chapter Four:**

Kill the Child

**Taichi and Fighting and . . . ****Kisses???  O_O;;  Oh, my . . .**

**------------------ & ------------------**

A/N: The chapter title "Cassant le Dôme du Verre de la Rose" is French for "Breaking the Glass Dome of the Rose" and is an allusion to the book Le Petit Prince written by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.  An online version of the book in the original French as well as in English, Slovenian, and Polish can be found here: http://galeb.etf.bg.ac.yu/mp/ .

**------------------ & ------------------**


	4. Kill the Child

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, **Kinslayer** just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.

If you're not and you didn't, then please:

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------******

**"For it must be noted, that men must either be caressed or else annihilated;**

**they will revenge themselves for small injuries, but cannot do so for great ones."**

**-Machiavelli**

**The Prince**

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Four:**

**Kill the Child**

**------------------ & ------------------**

He walked out into the stadium, reveling in the peace and quiet.  He could feel his digimon stir in the bag at his side and almost smiled.  The sky was a leaden thing that hunched over the earth, rain lurking somewhere within its hulking depths, ready to drop at the faintest sigh of wind.  It was oppressive outside: humid and thick; Ken loved it.

He wished that it had rained already.  He wanted to feel the spongy mud squelch under his boots.

"Ichijouji!"

The Tamachi-born genius's head whipped over to the side in a motion so fast that it looked painful.  He stopped and frowned darkly as he recognized a form detach itself from a hitherto unnoticed group of children.  Who . . .?  A Digidestined?  What would a Digidestined want with him?  Violet eyes narrowed as the group of children approached him tentatively—well, all except one approached tentatively.  The one who had called him, one Yagami Taichi to be specific, looked anything but tentative.  He was ahead of the others and moving as though every step was intended to raze the earth beneath his feet.

A shiver in his bag caught Ken's attention and the boy gently placed a hand on Wormmon that was both comforting and restraining.  Now that he could see the other children clearly, it was obvious that all the younger ones had their partners with them and the last thing that Ken wanted was for this to turn into something that he couldn't control.  He had absolute faith in both Wormmon and Stingmon, but he didn't want to risk his only friend in a conflict that was his and his alone.

A small face peered out at him.  "Ken?!" the creature pleaded from his bag.  He could smell the other digimon and the children's anger.  He wanted out to help his partner.  Ken already faced too much in life alone as it was; why should he suffer this alone too?

"It's nothing."  The boy muttered to the digimon.  He absently ran a hand along the bag to soothe his partner.  "Relax, my friend."

"But—"                                                                                                                                                                                                

"You're my ace in the hole, Wormmon.  They don't know that you're alive remember.  You're also the only thing that I cannot afford to lose.  What am I without you? Stay there.  I can handle this myself.  They are nothing."

"If it gets bad I'm coming out," the digimon warned.

Ken nodded and sighed faintly.  It was no use arguing with his little rookie when he used that tone.  That was the only thing different about his partner's personality after the reformatting: when it came to Ken's safety, the virus insisted that Ken do what Wormmon thought best.  He was never pushy, but he had found out that guilt-tripping Ken was very effective.  It was underhanded and manipulative, but he didn't care; it kept Ken alive.

Ken stopped and eyed the taller teen speculatively as he drew near.  He made no attempt to hide his yawn and felt a small ache come from a new cut on his hip.  The Digidestined stopped a little over a meter away from him, the others forming a loose semi-circle a small distance back. 

"Ichijouji." Yagami grated out again.  The older boy appeared to be seething.

How marvelous.  It had been quite a long time since Ken had had some fun.  This could prove to be most entertaining.

Ken laid the bag gently on the ground, put his arms akimbo, and allowed his lips to harden into a smirk.  It was a distinctly unpleasant expression, something cruel and carved.  Coupled with the utter emptiness in his eyes, it was actually quite frightening.  Ken, however, was only aware of its affect, not its appearance.  Either way, it wouldn't have really mattered to him anyway.

"Yes?" he purred, unaware of exactly how that purr sounded.

Yagami stopped about three feet in front of Ken, his face a bit too pale for the weather, and glared at the slender soccer star.  "We have to a talk."

Oh, how cute!  The little hero wanted a fight!  This was just too utterly splendid for words.  Ken had to fight hard not giggle, somehow knowing that that giggle would sound just a little bit insane.

He spread his hands wide in a magnanimous gesture in an effort not to clap like on overjoyed child with a new toy.  "Talk away, hero."  He could actually _see_ Yagami grating his teeth.  Delightful!

By now the rest of the little Digidestined posse had come and they stood a few feet behind their leader.  The younger ones all looked confused, some of the older ones looked puzzled, and a few actually looked afraid.  Now this was certainly a fascinating development.  Perhaps today would prove to be useful after all.  The digimon glared at him and shied away from his gaze in turns and Ken ignored them.  It was Yagami, after all, who had wanted his attention; well now he had it.  Now the only question was what he would do with it.

Ken waited patiently.

He most certainly did _not_ expect Yagami Taichi to physically attack him.  But attack him the older boy did and Ken barely had time to avoid falling on Wormmon's bag as he hit the ground.  His eyes widened and he hit the ground with a thump and a gasp as the air fled his lungs.  A hard fist connected with his stomach.

_Ouch._

Another one was hitting his shoulder. 

In about a half an instant Ken decided that this was not a particularly good situation for him to be in and grabbed Yagami's hands and jerked the older boy down closer to him.  He smashed his forehead against Yagami's, sending his reeling.  The smaller boy used the other's momentary distraction to roll over and switch their positions so that he was on top.  

_"Tai!"_

_"Somebody do something!!"_

_"Break it up!"_

_"Demi V-mon digivolve to V-mon!!  V-head—"_

_"Spinning Thread!"_

_"Wormmon?!"_

Yagami wrenched on of his hands free and yanked his opponent's long indigo hair, jerking his head back.  Ken found a pressure point with his free hand and pushed down until the other boy saw spots.  The Digidestined released his hair and the judo black belt jabbed him sharply in the solar plexus so that his victim gave a wheezing cry as the air left his lungs.  "You are _not_ in control!!" the bluenette hissed.

_"Still doing his dirty work, virus?"_

_"Leave Ken-chan alone!!  You don't understand!"_

_"TK!  Daisuke!  They're going to kill each other!"_

_"Don't you hurt my Ken-chan!"_

"You bastard!" Yagami hissed through clenched teeth.  "You bastard!!"

Ken growled something unintelligible and punched his opponent across the mouth.  

With something that was like a shriek of rage, the older boy bucked sharply and Ken tensed his legs protectively.  The instinct caused him to lose his balance and Yagami pushed him off and onto the ground.  Ken flailed and twisted away as the wild-haired teen lunged for him.  They collapsed together in a tangle of punches, kicks, and grunts.

It began to rain.

_"Get out of the way, Wormmon!"_

_"We don't want to hurt him!"_

_"No!  All people ever do is hurt him!  I won't let you hurt Ken-chan too! "_

_"Can't you see he's using you?!"_

_"No, no, no!!  You don't understand!  Stay away from him!!"_

_"I've heard enough!  Lightening Paw!"_

_"Boom Bubble POP!"_

_"Diamond Shell!"_

_"Spinning Thread!"_

_"Stop it, all of you!"_

Ken's head snapped up and he froze when heard the digimon's attacks.  _Wormmon!  Damnit!_  Why hadn't he been paying attention?!  He shoved Yagami off of him with inhuman strength and propped himself up.  Wormmon couldn't handle all those attacks and Tailmon was a Champion.  "Wormmon!!"

A light pulsed in Ken's gym bag.

_"Wormmon digivolve to . . . Stingmon!!"_

The other children gaped as the enormous vaccine type insect leapt off of the ground, easily dodging the attacks.  Ken sighed in relief—

And Yagami punched him.

"Ken-chan!"

The blow sent the smaller boy sprawling and he blacked out for an instant.  When he opened his violet eyes Ken's arms were pinned above his head and Yagami sat down on his hips smirking in triumph.  Ken tensed, helpless.  _Way to not focus, genius,_ he thought blackly to himself.  He saw a shifting wall of forest green out of the corner of his eye, but didn't shift his gaze from Yagami's.  He didn't dare.

"Stop, Stingmon," he ordered calmly.

His partner froze in mid air and every eye shifted to the two boys lying on the ground.

Yagami smiled like a viper.  "Now who's in control, Kaiser?"

Ken ground his teeth and Stingmon released a low rumbling growl.

The brunette cocked his head to the side and his smile grew by the second.  "Now, as I was saying, we need to talk."

"That's enough, Tai," a worried-sounding voice said from behind them.  "You've proven your point, now just let him go."

"I told you to stay out of this Yama.  I can handle this myself."  His brown eyes never left Ken's purple ones and a shiver moved through the younger teen.  

He was _not_ afraid of Yagami Taichi.  He was not afraid of anything . . . So then why did he feel like he was going to throw up?

Ken swallowed the stone rising up in his throat dryly.  "Talk away, hero."

Yagami tightened his painful grip on the other boy's wrists and eyed him speculatively for a moment.  He grinned at his victim manically and Ken felt another shiver crawl up and down his spine.  "Okay."

Then Yagami kissed him.  Hard.  On the lips.  And was that his _tongue_?

Ken's reaction was instantaneous.  He froze solid and time just _stopped_.  The rain, previously unnoticed, sounded like a thousand crystal glasses shattering.  Yagami suddenly filled his senses: his scent was thick and sweet; he tasted like syrup and butterscotch; the little noises of their lips pressed together; the sound of the other children's surprise; the heavy gray of the thunderheads; the wind against his skin; the cold where the rain splashed on him; the heat where Yagami was pressed against him . . . Ken was on sensory overload.  It only lasted an instant, but it felt like forever and then he was fighting like a cat.  He twisted and jerked beneath the older boy's weight and struggled to free his bound hands, but it was all in vain.  Yagami was just too damn strong and the more Ken fought, the more into it the other boy seemed to get into it.  Bile surged up to his throat and his stomach lurched dangerously at that thought.  He panicked and did the only thing he could think of.  He bit Yagami.

Blood slipped into both their mouths and the older teen lurched back and yelped, his hands flying to cover his mouth.  Ken took the opportunity to kick Yagami off of him, roll over, and retch painfully.  Then he felt something that was even more terrifying than Yagami's kiss and retched anew.  He was aroused.  His vision clouded up and his stomach heaved until there was nothing left to come up.  

Ken automatically wiped his mouth and raised haunted eyes to stare at the winded teen who lay a few feet away grinning like the Chestershire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.  There was blood on his lips.  His stomach lurched again and he scrambled to his feet, backing away.  The logical part of his mind tried to regain control of his body, but his emotions were running rampant.  He was shaking like he was going to fall apart and for some reason he really, really, really wanted to start screaming and sobbing hysterically and have a temper tantrum of cataclysmic proportions.  He clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from tearing out his hair.  He couldn't stop backing up.

"Y—y—you FREAK!!"  Even his voice trembled.  "You freak!!!"

Yagami only grinned.

Ken nearly screamed when he backed into something.  It was Stingmon.  The Champion's distress and confusion invaded Ken's already chaotic mind and he willed Stingmon back to his rookie form.  The rest of the events of the afternoon were a blur, and all Ken could remember was scooping up his partner, grabbing his bag, and running faster than he had ever run in his life.  He outran the Digidestined.  He outran Wormmon's frightened pleas.  He outran the aching in his muscles from the game and the fight.  The only thing that he couldn't outrun was the throbbing need pooling between his legs.  That fact alone was more than enough to make him run faster.

Somehow he ended up at home.  Somehow he soothed Wormmon asleep.  Somehow ended up playing that ridiculous game of run-around with his parents again.  Somehow he even ended up showered and in bed by 12:30.  He didn't know how though.

And to make matters worse, the minute he lay down the kiss flew back into his mind and he found himself instantly, painfully, hard.  He recited the entire Periodic Table of Elements both forwards and backwards twice.  He alphabetized his mental inventory of "The 107 Reason Why I Am Fucked Up Beyond Redemption" and then put all of the reasons in order by date.  He made up and solved complex logarithmic functional equations in his head.  Nothing worked.

It was 1:00 and he was still erect.  He groaned in denial and squeezed his eyes shut.  

His resolve didn't relent until 1:37 and even then he didn't dare touch himself.  Instead, he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip so hard that blood flowed.  Tears of shame, terror, and rage slid down his cheeks nonstop as he relived the kiss over and again.  At 1:53 his hands, previously clenched into tight fists at his sides to prevent them from wandering, clutched convulsive at his sheets and his back arched.  He choked back a scream.  In his mind's eye all he could see was Yagami Taichi as he climaxed alone and untouched in the darkness of his silent bedroom.

It was 2:02 when he looked at the clock.  Sleep was a long time in coming to Ichijouji Ken that night.

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Five:**

**To The Edge of the Sky to Escape**

**Taichi-kun is a wolf (metaphorically speaking), Ichijouji Rika makes a telephone call, and Ken has a lunchtime visitor.**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	5. To the Edge of the Sky to Escape

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, **Kinslayer** just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.  

If you're not and you didn't, then please: 

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------******

**_"Friend . . . _you_ . . . may be a wolf."_**

**Ken Kesey**

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Five:**

**To the Edge of the Sky to Escape**

**------------------ & ------------------**

"What the HELL were you thinking?!"  It was a hiss, but it sounded like a scream.

Tai frowned slightly as he removed some books and closed his locker.  His gaze flickered to Yamato before he spun the dial to be sure it stayed closed.  "Oi!  You act like you've never seen two people kiss before, Yama."

The blond sputtered for a moment and then let out a hissing breath.  "It is one thing to see two people kiss.  It is quite another thing to see you pin Ichijouji to the ground and force him to kiss you!!"  This time his voice was nowhere near a hiss and several people nearby turned and stared at the pair in surprise.

Tai grit his teeth, forced a smile, and grabbed Yamato's wrist, jerking the blond down the hall and into the closest empty classroom he could find.  Once inside, he slammed the door and turned an angry glare onto his best friend.  "Think you could have yelled any louder?  Why don't you just go make an announcement over the P.A. system?"

"I just might."

Taichi stiffened and Yamato crossed his arms stubbornly.  "What is going on with you, Taichi?  You're acting like a stranger."

Tai sat down on a desk and regarded his friend coolly for a moment.  Yama squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of that gaze.  He wasn't used to this side of Taichi and he found that he didn't like it one bit.  The blond looked away.  "We're worried, Taichi.  You just haven't been yourself for a while and—"

"_I've_ got a plan."

"What?"  Yamato looked back up to find that the taller boy's expression hadn't changed.  "A plan?  What are you talking about?"

"Ken," the older boy replied.

Yamato felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and he settled on a desk next to his friend.  He knew Taichi better than anyone.  They had been close friends for almost six years and off and on lovers for three of those six.  They had lost their virginity to one another when they were sixteen.  There was no one in the world that either boy was closer to and yet . . . And yet all of that suddenly felt old and long-past.  

Yamato felt like he was in the room with a stranger.  "He's 'Ken' now?  I wasn't aware that you and Ichijouji were so informal."

The wild-haired boy grinned, an expression that would have been comforting and familiar if his eyes hadn't been so very cold.  "We will be."

"Explain."  Yamato crossed his arms.  "Explain now."

A shrug.  "It's really quite simple, Yama-kun.  I'm going to make him fall in love with me, seduce him, fuck him, and leave him."

For a moment Yamato didn't say anything and only stared at his friend in disbelief.  Tai couldn't be serious about this, he just couldn't.  This was beyond impossible, it just couldn't be real.  Yagami Taichi didn't have a vindictive bone in his body, let alone—

Tai pulled a book out of his folder and tossed it to the musician.  He flipped it open and found himself face to face with some very explicit photos and highlighted text.  He looked at the cover: "The Gay Kama Sutra."

A pair of blue eyes widened with horror and Yamato threw the book back to Taichi as though it was on fire.  "Oh, gods . . . You're serious!"

Tai caught the paperback easily and tucked it back in his folder.  He set the folder down and sighed.  "Yama . . . You make it sound like something horrible."

"It _IS_ horrible!!"

Tai cast a swift glance at the door.  "Shh!  Do you want to get into trouble?!"

Yamato gaped at him.  "Why?  What do you possibly think you can accomplish by doing this?  If you want to have sex that badly just call me, Taichi.  You don't need to—"

Taichi groaned.  "It has nothing to do with the sex.  Think of it as a bigger dose of what he got at the game."

"So what are you going to do?  Beat him up and rape him?"

"No!!"  The taller boy shook his head vehemently.  "No, no, no!  It won't be anything like that!  I would never have sex with someone without their consent."  He looked appalled.  "What do you take me for, Yama?"

"I don't know!" the blond exploded, forgetting where they were.  "A week ago I wouldn't have thought that you'd sit down and plan to fuck with someone's head!  I wouldn't have thought that you'd even imagine intentionally hurting someone!  What you want is worse than physical rape, Tai!  That psychological rape!  That's emotional rape!"

"I think you're reading into this a bit, Yama."

Yamato's hands flew to his head and for a moment it looked as though he was going to rip out his hair.  "Are you _hearing_ yourself, Yagami Taichi?!  Have you _lost your fucking **mind**?!_"

Tai stared at him blankly.

"Tai . . ." Yamato extended his hands imploringly and shook his head.  "Taichi . . . You just can't do things like that.  He's not a—a _toy_.  You can't just play with—"

Tai's voice was low and dark.  "Why not?  After all, he did.  Daisuke, me, you, the digimon, the other kids . . . all we were was toys to him.  And turnabout is fair play."

Yamato blinked.  "What?"

The wild haired boy shifted about on the desk.  His eyes were hard and dark, a strange unnatural look.  "That day . . . they day they went after him and he had the Bakemon morph into the other kids . . . It was nothing but a game for him . . ."

The blond frowned as he tried to recall what Taichi was talking about.  

"He made him _cry_, Yama.  And he enjoyed it!"

Taichi had been over at his house and they had been messing around when the doorbell rang . . . It had been . . .

"Daisuke?"  The musician stared.  "This is about Daisuke?"

Three seconds after they had let the boy in, he had burst into hysterical tears.  Yamato still felt a pang inside him as he remembered the incident.  Dai had been so humiliated, so embarrassed.  He had kept sobbing over and over again into Tai shoulder, _"I'm so stupid, Taichi!  How could I have been so stupid?"_

It was the betrayal that had made him cry more than anything though.  He had liked Ichijouji Ken.  He had looked up to Ichijouji and respected him.  And Ichijouji had not only crushed that illusion, he had taken a good deal of delight in crushing that illusion.  

Daisuke had been devastated.  _"I liked him, Tai.  I really, really liked him.  We could have been friends.  Why am I so dumb?!"  _

"No, this isn't about, Daisuke!" Tai snarled, looking angry for the first time since the game.  "He's laughing at us Yama!  He sitting up there with his fan girls, his tragic genius run away story, his convenient amnesia, and he's _laughing_ at us!!"

"But Tai . . ." Yamato's voice sounded small and he felt lightheaded and lost.  "We won."

Taichi shook his head.  "No, we didn't!  He's happy as a clam and we still have to clean up the mess he made in the Digital World while he does nothing but smile for the camera and win his stupid awards and get fawned over by everyone every single step of his useless life! As long as he's sitting up there safe and happy, we haven't won a damn thing.  He still thinks that he can do this to people, but he can't.  I won't let him do this anymore.  He's gonna get a taste of his own medicine now.  He's going to know what it's like to be deceived and robbed and used and betrayed and humiliated and discarded.  It's his turn.  His life has been nothing but Easy Street.  That ends now."

Tai stopped and his friend stared at him with his hands slightly extended in a pleading gesture and a blank confused expression on his pale face.  The dark-haired boy turned away from that look; something about it hurt him.  He took a deep gulp of air.  When had he started breathing this hard?

"He deserves it, Yama-kun."

Yamato dropped his hands and stared.  He couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He shook his head.  "No way."

"What?"

Yamato shook his head again.  "Just . . . no way.  Now way.  You can't do this.  You _won't_ do this."

Taichi lifted an eyebrow and looked amused.  "You think I won't?"

"I think you can't!"  Yamato leaned forward with a serpentine grace and Tai blinked, startled.  "Ichijouji is smart, Tai.  Smarter than me and definitely smarter than you.  You won't even make is to second base." 

Tai grinned.  "Is that a challenge?"

"A challenge?  That's—" Yamato suddenly stopped and threw his hands into the air.  "No!  No!  I absolutely refuse to have this conversation with you!  Have you lost your mind?"

"Calm down, Yama-kun."

"I _am_ calm!!!"  The blond stopped and realized that he was flushed and slightly out of breathe.  Tai watched him curiously for a moment and then chuckled.  Yama glared at him.  "Okay, I'm calm, I'm calm."  He sat down on a desk and ran a hand through his hair.  "I'm good.  But I want NO part in this, Taichi, you hear me?  This is going to blow up in your face and I don't want to be anywhere near you when that happens."

The other teen rolled his eyes.  "Yama, you're such a worry wart!  I'm telling you, I can handle this.  I'm only gonna teach him a lesson.  It's not like I'm gonna kill him; he'll survive.  It's not like it's anything serious or—"

"Something tells me that this is a lot more serious than you think it is, Taichi."  

The dark-skinned teen looked over at his friend and was taken back but the serious look in the Yama's blue eyes.  Yamato shrugged.  "You're making a mistake."

Tai scowled and grabbed his books.  "Whatever.  Look, can you just take notes for me in Imperial History and Statistics?"

"What for?"

Taichi walked over to the door and open it.  He smiled at his friend.  "I have to hurry if I'm gonna make the train over to Tamachi."

Yamato's mouth worked silently for a moment.  "Tamachi?"  But by the time he got the word out Taichi was gone.

**------------- & -------------**

Rika hummed under her breathe as she folded the wash.  It was a soft slow song, a snatch of something half-remembered from her own childhood when her mother cradled her in her arms and rocked her back and forth, assuring the little girl that she was brave and strong and good and life helps those who help others.  Rika had grown up on stories like that.  Brave knights, shining armor, good and humble peasant women, delicate princesses who were always polite and in style—this was Ichijouji Rika's childhood and she had loved it.  It had been a fairy tale life that led to a fairy tale marriage to the handsome, kind, and well-to-do Ichijouji Tsuyoshi, a rising star in the business accounting and financial advising world.  

She had married young, graduating from an average high school with an average GPA that she was proud of, but distained to move on to community college once her engagement to Tsuyoshi had been announced.  She should have been happy . . . she _had_ been happy . . . Yet somehow happily ever after hadn't followed.

The day she found herself pregnant with Ken had killed whatever happily ever after she might have had.  Things had been difficult enough for the couple when Osamu was born.  His indigo hair and deep blue eyes set him apart from both branches of the family and had been the cause of a great deal of whispering, suspicious looks, and speculating.  Rika had almost felt guilty for bearing a child in the first place.  And then she got pregnant again.  This child would have been a girl had she carried it to term.  Sometimes she wondered if she would have looked like her other children.  Unfortunately Rika caught a virus halfway through her sixth month.  She had brushed it aside as flu, but left untreated the sickness quickly spread.  It killed her baby.  It nearly left Tsuyoshi a widower.  After that the doctors told her that she had a "weakened womb" and would never be able to have children again.  

Rika had actually been thrilled by the news.  She had never wanted to have many children and their little 'Samu was starting to grow up.  He would be three years old soon and they both had their hands far too full with work and a rambunctious toddler running around.  She and Tsuyoshi had actually had fights about getting an operation to ensure that there would be no more children after Osamu and she could feel her in-laws eyes on her sometimes, wondering if she had intentionally killed her child.  The news that her womb wouldn't support another infant had been such a relief.  They had had the perfect little family then . . .

Until the third pregnancy came upon her.  This child was not the dream pregnancy that Osamu had been, nor did he relinquish his life as readily as his unborn sister had.  This child had been stubborn and strong and just so damn _determined_ to be born . . . even if it killed his mother.  Rika had spent the last five months of her pregnancy in the hospital under close observation.  Her newest child, her final child, had been so eager to leave her behind that the doctors were forced to perform an emergency cesarean section when her labor pains started two weeks early.  Perhaps he had somehow understood how little she had wanted him inside her.

Ichijouji Ken was not born into the world like a normal boy was, he was cut free of his mother's womb early and brought squalling and screaming into the light, perfectly healthy and announcing his general dissatisfaction with everything quite lustily as his drained, semi-conscious mother stared at his tiny flailing fists with lackluster eyes.

Rika's depression lasted for nearly three months, during which time she refused to even touch the infant, forcing Tsuyoshi to bottle feed the boy and call his sister down from Fukushima to care for him when he was at work.  Hikito had never been fond of Rika and made no secret of it during her stay with them, parading about the apartment with Ken as though she had borne him and making everyone feel uncomfortable.  

Osamu, who had been five at the time, had not understood why his mother didn't love his ototochan the way she loved him.  Despite the sometimes shocking comprehension and memorizing skills he was beginning to display, he didn't understand words like "depression" and "mental fatigue."  He just knew that there was something different about the way his mother had carried his brother than the way she had carried him.  Sometimes Rika wondered if he ever understood that she had been the one with the problem, not Ken.

It would have been better if Ken had been a difficult child.  After his birth Osamu had cried constantly, gotten bored easily, and hated everything from his diaper brand to the Gerber imports they paid extra for in the hopes that he wouldn't throw it at them.  Ken rarely cried, ate very little, but seemed to love everything, laughed and smiled constantly, and seemed to do everything possible to make himself appealing to his indifferent mother.  The child was alert and seemed to delight in everything, particularly his brother whom Rika still doted on and who spent more time with him than anyone else.  Ken loved everything—even her—and she couldn't stand the sight of him. 

The woman still cursed herself at night in her heart of hearts when Tsuyoshi's breathing had evened out and if she listened hard enough she could hear Ken's nimble fingers clicking away at his keyboard.  She had never been able to bridge that gap between them.  She hadn't loved him enough, she knew.  That's why he was like this.  He had come into the world all wrong.  And while she loved him more than anything now, she knew when he looked at her that he remembered her rejection on some level.  And she knew that he hated her for it and would never forgive her.

Rika balled the last pair of socks up and wiped her face.  She hadn't even noticed that she had begun crying.  Sighing heavily, she stood up, a pile of carefully folded clothes in her hands as she made her way to her son's room at the end of the hall.  

The door was cracked open, so all she had to do push it open with her foot.  The woman breathed in deeply as she entered the tidy room.  The air smelled surprisingly fresh and reminded her of days when she would take Osamu and Ken to the park and watch them play.  She liked to come in here sometimes when Ken was out.  It made her feel close to the boy again.

She snorted softly.  "You're getting soft, Rika-chan," she chided herself.  She moved to the closet and began to put the clothes away, still humming as she went.  "What would Papa say if he saw you now?"

Half-chuckling at her sudden nostalgia, she reached up to place some neatly folded undershirts on the top shelf.  As she was placing a black shirt up on the shelf, her elbow hit a box that Ken had placed there and it fell to the floor, the contents and hundreds of little pieces of paper scattering everywhere.  Rika made a noise of disgust and put the last few shirts away before bending down to pick up the mess she had made.  

Somehow Ken always knew when someone had been in his room, regardless of whether or not things had been moved.  To prevent "snooping," as he called it, he used to set traps and had went out and bought a lock which he had installed one day after school.  When Ken had run away, Tsuyoshi had broken the lock and it had never been replaced.  He still seemed to know not only who was in the room, but what time they were in there, what they did, and how long they stayed.  It was quite unnerving.  She could just see him when he came into dinner tonight.  He'd be as cold as he always was, but a little bit harder than usual.  _"Please be more careful putting the clothes away, Mother," _he'd say.  

Rika bit her lip.  She loved her son.  She really did.  She loved him more than life itself.  She'd do anything for him.  But sometimes . . . sometimes when she was alone and it was quiet, she wondered if things might not have been better if he had died in the womb or if _he_ had been struck by the car that had stolen her Osamu . . . And sometimes . . . when things were very, _very_ quiet she wished that he had been.

Her hands stopped their cleaning when she noticed a book that had fallen out of the box.  Brown eyes widened as she scanned the cover.  "But what is he . . .?"  She trailed off and suddenly felt cold.

She turned her attention back to the little papers she had been blindly shoveling back into the box.  They weren't papers.  Trembling slightly she lifted one up and looked at it, an odd expression of horror and confusion distorting her face.  The horror was there because what she had found frightened her and disturbed her on some deep level.  The confusion was there because she didn't know why it disturbed her.  It was just . . . not right.  This was profoundly NOT RIGHT.  This was not normal behavior.

The woman sat there for several more minutes, sorting through the contents of the box until her horror managed to evolve into a full blown panic.  She stood, the papers on her lap fluttering to the ground.  "Tsu . . . I should call Tsu and tell him—" She stopped.  If she called him at work, Tsu would tell her she was overreacting.  He would tell her to go have some tea and not worry about it—that it was normal.  But she was worried and she knew that this _was not normal_ . . .

Rika's hands were shaking by the time she reached the kitchen.  She took a day planner out of the drawer and flipped it open to the telephone book.  She had opened this book many times and stared at the phone number.  Occasionally she even picked up the phone.  But never before had she dared to actually dial the number.  Tsuyoshi would hate that she had done this without discussing it with him first—without letting him refuse first.  And Ken . . . would hate her.  Of that she was certain.

Her finger's trembled so badly that she could barely hit the proper buttons on the touchtone.  The phone rang three times before it was answered but a crisp female voice on the other end.

_"Moshi moshi."_

Rika's breath caught in her throat.

_"Moshi moshi.  Is anyone there?"_

"Ah . . . Moshi moshi," the woman stuttered.  "I . . ." She closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the doorframe as all her strength drained out of her.  "I need your help." 

**------------- & -------------**

Ken stared blankly down at his lunch tray.  Any and all attempts to focus on anything other than Saturday's soccer game . . . Taichi's lips pressed against his . . . It was most disconcerting.  He had actually been caught staring into space in Spanish class and Tanuki had been giving him worried sidelong glances all morning.  He didn't know what to do with himself.

He knew what was wrong of course.  It was that damned kiss.  He just couldn't figure it out and, while Ichijouji Ken was all for tackling a mystery, it was much different when the mystery involved him.  He didn't know why Yagami had kissed him, why he had even let the other boy get that close, or why he hadn't beat the hell out of Yagami afterwards.  What's worse, he didn't know why his body had reacted that way.

Ken had never had any real interest in sex.  Ever.  While other boys were concentrating on just how short the girls' uniforms really were and what's-her-face's newest hairdo, Ken had been focused on perfecting black spirals and figuring out just the right time to snap his wrist so that his whip wrapped instead of lashed.  Now, other boys were still in the same place, oggling the girls track team and admiring the way so-and-so's cleavage showed when she bowed, and Ken . . . Ken . . . didn't really seem to focus on anything anymore . . .

The indigo haired genius scowled and closed his eyes.  But _Yagami_ of all people?

Ken had no qualms about homosexuality or heterosexuality—he just didn't care.  He had never found anyone of either sex really worth his time, so why _should_ he care?  It didn't affect him.  He was too busy, too important, to care about such things.  Ichijouji Ken could never be seen as caring about such things.  To be sexualized in the eyes of his fans . . . his family . . . even, a tiny voice whispered, his long-dead Oniisan . . . That was simply intolerable.  Any violation of his purity would be catastrophic in the eyes of the masses.  Even in his own eyes now.  A lack of such base drives as carnal pleasures was one of his trademarks.  "Why can't you be more like that Ichijouji boy?" was not an uncommon phrase to be heard in Tokyo households . . . to lose all that . . .  

But this kiss was so unexpected, so new, so _forbidden_, that he couldn't help but think of it.  And every time he though of it, his throats would go dry and he would feel so strange inside . . . It was different from those half-remembered dreams that left him panting and sticky in the night when he body proceeded to do its own maintenance with or without his permission.  It was different than the semi-erotic musings he had had about Motomiya and Takaishi and the Yagami girl.  Those had all been about shame and torture—about how best to break them.  The high, the climax, had been from their pain, not his pleasure.  

This kiss business was another thing altogether, though.  He had not been in control.  He had not been prepared.  He had not been given a choice.  He had had every power and illusion briefly stripped from him and he was pressed into the mud and touched and held and _known_ with an intimacy and violation that was entirely new.  The newness of it coupled with the sudden loss of control (and therefore responsibility) was a potent aphrodisiac.  So much so that, as he stared into space in class, he was vaguely aware of the nether regions of his body, an area that had never before rebelled against him except for during those quiet, private nights that Wormmon never questioned, began to stir with a strength unknown during his waking, lucid hours.

It was really quite frustrating.   

He stood up and walked over to dump his tray out.  Tanuki would most likely be annoyed at him for not waiting, but he didn't feel like putting up with the American at the moment.  He knew that he was going to get mobbed by a dozen questions about what happened at the game and why didn't he take his phone calls this weekend, and why was he zoning out all day, and he really did not feel like dealing with anyone at the moment.  The Coon meant well and Ken _did_ appreciate it on a distant level, but the other boy's overprotective streak was also extremely irritating at times.

He wandered out of the cafeteria and nobody made any attempt to stop him.  Tamachi was a very high-end school that only catered to either the very rich or the very gifted and the students were actually granted an enormous amount of freedom.  Nobody ever really abused it, not even Tanuki was willing to push the envelope on that.  One disciplinary meant detention.  Two, suspension, and three was expulsion.  Nobody dared to shame himself or his family by getting expelled—it would be the end of their academic career—so the faculty was fairly relaxed in many ways.

The hallways were almost empty with everyone either in classes or at lunch as he made his way to the back door.  He liked to sit on the stairs by the door and look out over the schoolyard.  It reminded him of when he was younger and would sit there next to Osamu as his brother told him everything one needed to know about life.  Osamu was extremely precocious and everyday would impart some sort of new wisdom to his little brother.  Ken's education had seemed to be his favorite pastime.

The boy settled down on the large stone railing to the left and sighed.  The wind blew faintly, blowing his hair into his eyes.

_"Tell me what you think the most important thing in the world is, Ken-chan."_

_The four-year-old's face scrunched up as he thought.  "Um . . . Bear-Bear?"  He grinned with delight as he thought of the stuffed tiger Osamu had given him his first day home from the hospital._

_"Bear-Bear?"  Osamu frowned down at him.  His hatred for the name "Bear-Bear" was well known in the Ichijouji household.  "No, Ken.  Bear-Bear is a stuffed animal.  A stuffed _tiger_."_

_Ken pouted.  The older boy never missed an opportunity to point out that Bear-Bear was not a bear.  "Then what is important, Oniichan?"_

_"Well, it's certainly _not_ a stuffed animal.  And stop pouting.  You look ridiculous."_

_The child did as he was told and looked out over the empty schoolyard.  "Oniichan?"_

_"Hmmm?"_

_"Am I important?"_

_For a moment Osamu didn't say anything and nothing could be heard except birds singing.  "Does it matter, Ken?"_

_"What?"_

_"Does it really matter if you're important or not?  Does it change anything?"_

_When Ken didn't respond after a while, Osamu looked back down at him.  "Ken?"_

_"I think," the child said solemnly, "that Bear-Bear would be very sad if he was not important to someone."_

_Osamu looked at him oddly and then reached over to ruffle the younger boy's hair.  "You know what, Kenny-boy?  I think you may be right."_

Ken sighed softly and suddenly felt drained.  It really didn't matter, he supposed.  It didn't change anything.  It had been so long since anything had been important to him that he had forgotten how it felt to love something so much—how to love anything.  The lack of memory was a tangible void in him.  It wasn't pain, it was merely awareness, but Ken understood that the awareness was something worse than the pain could have ever been.  The awareness meant that he knew of the loss—he was just incapable feeling for it.  He knew what tears were; he simply could not shed them any more.  And how sad was that?

A shadow fell across him, startling Ken, and he whirled around.  "Who—?"  The word lodged in his throat.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

Ken jumped at the sound of the voice, his thought scattering in his surprise.    He whirled around.  "Yagami?!"

"Especially since it stormed all weekend," the older boy continued.  

Ken scowled and clenched his hands into fists.  "What are you—" He stopped when Tai smiled gently and took a step closer to him, forcing him back against the railing.  Ken froze and eyed the other teen warily.  "What do you want, Digidestined?"

"Relax."  Taichi leaned casually against the rail and reached up to brush the strands of hair that fell into the paler teen's eyes.  He smiled faintly when Ken jerked away.  "I don't bite.  I just wanted to come and see you . . . and apologize to you."

Ken narrowed his eyes.  "Apology _not_ accepted.  Now move out of my way before I move you."  

Taichi moved aside and looked at the ground as Ken brushed by him.  "Ken-chan . . ."

Ken stiffened and stopped dead in his tracks.  "_What_ did you just call me?"

"Why do you hate everything so much?  Doesn't anything matter to you at all?"

Ken stared out into the yard and felt something twist inside him.  _Oniichan . . . Am I important?_  He closed his eyes.  "Why should it?" he murmured.

A pair of gentle hand settled on his shoulders and Ken jumped slightly when he felt warmth on his neck.  Ken stiffened beneath the older boy's strong hands.  "We're not so bad you know."

"We?" Ken tried to pull away, but Yagami's grip held him rooted to the ground.  

The brunette chuckled and it occurred to Ken that he smelled like syrup and warm leaves.  Unconsciously the shorter teen licked his lips.  

"The world," Taichi explained.  "You should really join us sometime.  You might even have fun."

"I doubt that.  Now let me go, Yagami."

"Now where's the fun in that, Ken-chan?"

Ken jerked himself away and whirled around, violet eyes flashing dangerously.  "Stop calling me that!  Are you insane?  What_ do you want_?!"

Yagami smirked and for some reason Ken found the expression unnerving.  "You're such coward.  I'll make you a bet then, Ken-chan."

Ken blinked, thrown off by the sudden change of topic.  "What?"

"There's a new Starbucks near Tamachi.  Meet me there on Friday at five o'clock."

Ken stared.  He felt very disoriented and more than a little bit irritated.  "You're mad, aren't you?  You really are crazy."

Taichi gripped his arm as the boy turned to go.  "Wait a minute, Ken!  You haven't even given me a chance to—"

"And I don't want to either!" Ken snapped as he attempted to wrench his arm free of Tai's grip.  "Now let go of me, Yagami or _I will hurt you_."

The older boy turned around and frowned at Ken's arm.  "You're a coward.  Everyone says so."

The indigo-haired boy turned around, a dark frown marring his cold features.  "Are you trying to goad me into kicking your ass?" he demanded flatly.

A snicker.  "No.  I'm telling you the truth.  Don't you hear the things people say about you?"  Taichi leaned against the wall gave Ken a look the other boy couldn't define.  He gestured in an impersonal, offhand fashion.  "Ichijouji Ken is beautiful, Ichijouji Ken is nice, Ichijouji Ken is smart and good at sports, but Ichijouji Ken is afraid of people."  He smiled slightly.  "You're a coward.  Are you really so afraid of me that you can't even meet me at a Starbucks?"

"And why should I even waste my time on you, Yagami?"

And then suddenly Tai was right in front of him and gripping his shoulder and leaning down and . . .

Ken relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips parting in expectation of a kiss.  Taichi's lips barely grazed his as he whispered into his mouth.  "Because if you don't come, you'll always wonder why I even asked you to."

And _then_ Taichi kissed him, gently pressing his lips to Ken's and slipping the very tip of his tongue past the shorter teen's lip to slowly graze the tip of his teeth.  A shiver ran up ken's spine and he tried to lean forward, almost moaning when Taichi's grip on his shoulders tightened painfully to stop the motion.  After another moment, the taller teen pulled away and leaned down to whisper in Ken's ear.  "Five o'clock, Ken.  Don't be late."

He released ken roughly, almost tossing him to the side, and when Ken opened his eyes, the other boy was gone.  He stared around with a blank empty-eyed expression for a moment, cold all over.  "What the hell . . .?"

The bell rang loudly.  Lunch was over.

**------------- & -------------**

Tanuki growled in irritation and rapped on the locker once.  Ken was late.  Ken was late and he was never, ever late for anything.  The boy scowled at the ground and looked down at his watch.  It was 3:15.  He was very, very late.

A girl walked over and began to fiddle around with the combination on the locker next to Ken's, keeping her head down so that her long red hair fell over her face and she didn't have to make eye contact with the boy.  The Coon looked up and his blue eyes narrowed.  

"Himozu Tsuji."

The girl flinched at the sound of her name and she froze, dropping her head even lower as though she were trying to hide.  "Y—yes . . ."

"You are in Class E with Ichijouji Ken, aren't you?" he demanded.

She nodded.

"Have you seen him lately?"

She looked up and he was momentarily caught off guard by how green her eyes were.  "He's out back.  Sitting on the rail right by the door."

He blinked.  "Um . . . Thank you, Himozu san . . ."

He turned to go, but was stopped when she laid a gentle hand on his arm.  He turned around and found himself confronted by her enormous eyes again.  "Tanuki-kun . . ." She trailed off and blushed a dark rose color.

He sighed and tried to tug his arm free.  "What?"

"They say . . . They say . . ." she blushed darker and started to stammer.  "They say that you have an ear with Ichijouji-kun . . ."

Tanuki sighed.  He hated it when this happened.

The girl fidgeted.  "Would you please tell him . . . I have had a locker next to his for two years and . . . He is so quiet . . . Tell him . . ." her head snapped up and her eyes shone with determination as she said the next words so fast that she nearly screamed them, "Would you please tell Ichijouji kun that Himozu Tsuji likes him and admires him greatly?"

The girl paled and then turned bright red before turning around, slamming her locker closed, and fleeing down the hallway at a dead run.

Tanuki turned around, picked up his case, and stuffed his free hand in his pocket.  He scowled angrily.  "What an idiot."

He found his friend sitting on the right side of the back door on the thick cement railing that followed the eight shallow stairs down to the ground to end in a plain swirl at its base.  Clouds covered up the sun, making the day drab and gray, the same color as the stone railing and their uniforms.  Ken was sitting with one leg tucked under him and the other knee pulled up to his chest.  His arms were resting on his upright knee and his chin was on his arms.  His eyes were closed.  He could have been asleep.

Tanuki leaned back against the rail opposite him.  They were alone, the last remnants of their classmates at the other end of the yard waiting for rides or goofing off.  The Coon frowned and glared at the black leather of Ken's schoolbag that was resting on the ground against the rail.

"You skipped out on me at lunch."

"Mmmm."

"Then you stood me up at the lockers today."

Ken kept his eyes closed and shrugged.  

Tanuki looked out at the yard and watched some of his classmates as they played around.  "What's up, Ichijouji?  You've been in la-la land all day."

Someone shrieked and started laughing in the distance and Tanuki heard Ken shift restlessly near him.

"Ai . . . Tanuki-kun . . ?"  

The quiet sound of his friend's voice made the paler boy pause and give Ken a hard look.  What he saw disturbed him.  The slender boy had pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, making his body as small and compact as possible.  Tanuki frowned when he saw how pale the other teen's face was beneath the long blue strands of silk that he was hiding behind.  The hard veneer that normally hid the famed genius's eyes was gone, giving them a vibrant luminescence that he had never seen there.  For an instant Ken looked young and fragile—breakable.

The Coon shifted, extremely uncomfortable yet unwillingly enchanted by this secret version of his friend.  "Ken . . .?  What's wrong with you?"

"Tanuki-kun . . . what do you think of me?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think of me, Tanuki?"  Ken looked up and his eyes seemed to shimmer.  "Am I a bad person?  I mean . . . When people look at me, what do they see?  Do you really think that I'm . . . untouchable . . .?"

The other boy stood up straight, snorted and waved a hand through the air dismissively.  "Pah! You are _the_ Ichijouji Ken!!!  You aren't like other people; you can't be broken down like that.  You're beyond all that shit!"  Tanuki's eyes gleamed as he put his hands on his hips and smirked.  "And if anyone thinks any different then I'll teach them otherwise."

Ken blinked once very slowly like a cat and then sighed and turned away again.  Tanuki frowned.  He wasn't used to his wit and threats not being able to fix things.  Ken normally did not demand things from him and he wasn't sure what he was being asked for or if he could give it.

The wind blew, ruffling their hair as the voices of their schoolmates were carried to them from the yard.  Tanuki stared hard at the back of Ken's hair, his mind working furiously to find a reason for this sudden malaise.  A bird chirped somewhere and the Coon sighed; Ken would say something in his own time.  He didn't have to wait long.

"I was thinking the other day."  His voice was faintly muffled by the way his head was turned.  "Why do you think we're here, Tanuki?  Alive, I mean."

"I dunno."  Tanuki shrugged in disgust, suddenly feeling annoyed by this line of conversation.  "To grow, learn, and play?"

Ken uncurled and slipped off the edge of the railing to stand in front of Tanuki.  When Ken turned back to him and his eyes were hard again, but there was still something empty in them—ice over a shimmering lake.  "No.  There is no reason."

Tanuki lifted an eyebrow and settled back against the stone railing.  He was feeling much more comfortable now that he was faced with this Ken.  He knew what was expected of him.  "Mmmm . . . How's that?" he drawled carelessly.

Ken's eyes narrowed and he looked around for a moment, searching for something.  A brightly colored butterfly fluttered past his face and his hand snapped out suddenly, startling the white-haired boy in spite of himself, and effortlessly capturing the insect in a loosely closed fist.  As Tanuki watched, Ken gently brought the fist holding the butterfly close to him and reached into it with his free hand to gently grip the fluttering creature by the wings and extricate it from the prison of his hand.  It kicked its many legs and jerked pitifully in his grip.

Ken held it out and scowled faintly.  "Look at it, Tanuki," he ordered as he gave the butterfly an unnecessary shake.  "Look at it.  It would shake itself to pieces to escape my grip even though I'm not hurting it.  It would tear off its own wings.  Foxes chew their own legs off to escape traps and what is it all for?  If I release this insect what will it do?  Fly away, drain flowers, mate, and die.  What is the point of that?"

Tanuki swallowed hard.  "Ken . . ."

Ken made a noise of disgust and suddenly tore the butterfly's wings off.  Tanuki stared and felt a chill go through him.  Ken tossed the kicking, wingless butterfly onto the stone railing.  He watched it twitch and writhe in agony for a moment.  "Do you see?" he muttered as he stared at it with a contemptuous sneer warping his delicate features.  "It _still_ struggles, even now.  Even when it has nothing to live for, it still keeps trying!!  Why?!"  Ken clenched his hands into fists.  "What is it all for?!  _What the hell is this all for?!_"

There came a loud slapping noise as he suddenly slammed his open hand down onto the rail, crushing the butterfly.  For a moment he stood stalk still, his eyes closed and his chest heaving as he took deep, hungry gasps of air.  Tanuki looked at him emotionlessly, oblivious to the people who had stopped to stare at them at the sound of Ken's enraged shriek.

The wind blew again, tossing Ken's hair about his face mischievously.  It absently occurred to the Coon that his friend look beautiful like that, with his hair going everywhere and his eyes closed like he was sleeping.  Tanuki smiled.

Ken opened his eyes and smirked, a cruel expression.  "What's it all for?" he demanded again in a quiet, almost sultry, voice.  He lidded his eyes and tilted his head to the side with a serpentine, swaying motion.  "There is no point.  How can there be a point to all this . . . _shit_," he held up his hand revealing a long yellow and blackish streak running across his red palm, "when it all ends up like _this_?"

Tanuki frowned and pushed himself upright.  "So then what's the point of anything?  What's the point of even living?"

"There is no point.  Better to be dead, I think, than alive.  Better to just close your eyes and . . . sleep."  Ken closed his eyes and sighed.  "I'm tired, Tanuki."

The two stood in silence for a moment and then Tanuki did something rare: he grabbed both their bags, gently wrapped an arm around Ken's shoulders, and steered the slightly shorter boy down the stairs.  

"Let's go home, mon Capitan-kun."

"Home?"  Ken opened his eyes and blinked in that slow cat-like way of his again.  "I'd like that, Tanuki kun.  I'd like that very much."

The two walked in silence for several moments, Tanuki gently steering a limp and unresisting Ken down to the sidewalk.  Any stares were met with a harsh blue-eyed gaze.

". . . You know . . . Himozu Tsuji likes you."

"Himozu?  Who is that?"

". . . Nobody, really, mon Capitan kun—probably just some fan girl.  Nobody important anyway."

**------------------ & ------------------ **

**Chapter Six:**

**Une Image Sans Visage**

Fluttering photographs.  Plus, Rika has company over . . . a decision that pleases no one.

------------------ & ------------------


	6. Une Image Sans Visage

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.  

If you're not and you didn't, then please: 

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**"I have no desire whatever to reform myself.  My only desire is to reform people who try to reform me . . ."**

**~Carl Panzram**

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Six:**

**Une Image Sans Visage**

**------------------ & ------------------**

The test had been an issue of contention in the Ichijouji household since the day of Osamu's death.  It was nothing remarkable: a geometry test, answers and the neat sets of lines that read "Ichijouji Osamu" carefully written in a neat childish hand and a large red "Perfect-o!" written in red in the center of the paper in the round over-enthusiastic way that only elementary school teachers seemed to be capable of.  There was tremendous importance placed on it though.  It was a symbol in many ways of what was lost and the burden that had been left behind.  

Hanamura Moriko had found that it was a rather accurate gauge of tension in the Ichijouji household.  When things were alright the test, the last test Osamu had taken before his tragic and, in Moriko's mind, rather curious death, stayed smack in the center of the freezer door, directly at eyelevel for all to see.  It was an advertisement of Osamu's final accomplishment that Rika displayed with a bizarre kind of pride.  Tsuyoshi, however, hated the thing.  His exact words had been "macabre denial of reality," actually, but Moriko had never gotten along with Tsuyoshi and had strongly, if quietly, disapproved of her friend's marriage to the slightly older businessman.  

Currently the test was drifting perilously close to the edge of the refrigerator and had slid down to chest level.  Rika fluttered anxiously around the kitchen, occasionally drifting over to hover around the slightly yellowed piece of paper and wringing her hands.  It was a habit that Moriko had first noticed when Rika's second pregnancy, the child she lost, had come upon her and it had only worsened when Ken had been conceived.

Moriko settled against the counter and ran a single nail through her hair with her right hand, unnecessarily smoothing back her impeccable black hair, and raised her coffee cup to her lips.  She pressed her lower lip against the edge of the warm ceramic and watched her friend groan and mutter over the rim.

"I just don't know what to do, Moriko!  He doesn't talk to me!  He doesn't . . . It's like living with a zombie!  And Tsu and I have just been drifting apart . . ." Rika burst into tears for the third time since Moriko's arrival and tugged the ends of her short, mousy hair.  "It's too _quiet_ in here!  I feel like I'm going to go crazy if something doesn't happen soon!"

Moriko placidly took a sip of coffee.  She had learned that it was usually best to let Rika exhaust herself before she tried to help her friend.  Personally, she thought it would be best for everyone if Ken was just sent away for a while.  A nice western boarding school might be the thing . . . something in France or England perhaps . . .

But Rika wouldn't hear of it.  Moriko wasn't sure where the guilt ended and the love began.

Rika sat down in a chair and looked around with a strange dead gaze that would have been frightening if it had been a new expression.

Moriko set her coffee cup down in the tile counter with a faint click and walked over to where the shorter woman was slumped in the chair.  She knelt on the ground next to Rika, carefully smoothing her skirt so that it didn't wrinkle, and leaned her head against Rika's lap.  She felt a soft hand lightly brush her hair and noted the slight tremors that shook Rika's slight frame.

"Rika-chan," she murmured, "how long have I known you?"

". . . Since I was nine . . . I ran out of the house because Momma and Papa were fighting.  I was running  so fast I didn't even see that Yankee until I ran into her . . . You stood up for me . . . stopped them from beating me up that day.  We've been friends ever since."

"I've been here for you, haven't I?  When your mother died and you lost your little one and throughout your pregnancies?  When Osamu died and when Ken disappeared . . .? Have I been a good friend to you?  A good doctor?"

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore, Moriko.  My family is my world and now it's all falling apart . . . My son is dead, my husband's gone more than he is home, and my baby . . . is gone."

Moriko sat up and stared hard into Rika's brown eyes.  She couldn't say anything that she hadn't already said and, while she had been Rika's unofficial therapist ever since the younger woman's mother had passed away, there was little that she could do to help her friend anymore.  Rika was living in a destructive home environment and she had a long-standing history of depression that had never been formally treated.  The combination was not conducive to a sound mind and body and Moriko blamed Tsuyoshi for allowing things to progress to this point.

The ebony-haired woman stood and sighed heavily.  "Have you thought at all about what I said?"

Rika gave her a wounded expression.  "Send him away?  I could never do that!  And Tsuyoshi—"

"No, Rika-chan."  Moriko pinched the slender bridge of her nose and bit her lower lip hesitantly.  "I know that you won't do that.  I think . . ." she paused, unsure how to proceed diplomatically.  "I think . . . Perhaps you might consider taking a vacation . . .?"

"A what?"  Rika paled.  "Leave?  Leave my son and Tsuyoshi behind?"  She blinked, appalled by the concept.  "_Abandon_ them?"

Moriko scowled slightly, a dark expression that pulled her skin oddly and made her delicate cheekbones stand out with unnatural prominence.  "No.  I want you to help yourself to help them.  I _want_ to help you save you marriage, Rika.  I _want_ to help you help Ken."

The smaller woman stood, her face flushed with an unattractive orange tint.  "Then help _Ken_!  That's why I called you here!  You saw that box.  You saw that—those things he's done!"

"And I am telling you that I cannot help him unless I have you full cooperation, Rika, and you won't give that to me!  You won't take him to a doctor, you won't go to a doctor yourself, and you reject any idea that you all have to make changes and sacrifices!"

"But those . . . he did that to himself!"

"And I can't just look at him and tell you what's wrong and how to fix it!  There has to be a _history_ of aberrant behavior.  He's not a vacuum!  You can't send him out to be serviced and get him back in two weeks good as new.  He is a person, with all the individual circumstances and complexities that come with that.  He's not a little adult who can take care of himself and he's not a carbon copy of Osa—"

"I never said he was!"

For a moment the two women were silent, the accusation hanging in the air painfully.

"I never said he was," Rika repeated quietly after a moment.  Her eyes drifted to the test still hanging on the door.

Moriko closed her eyes and turned away.  She took a sip of her coffee.

Rika shifted.  "I love my son more than anything, Moriko."

"I know, Rika-chan."

The door swung open, startling them both and Rika's eyes darted nervously towards the clock.  It was still far too early for Ken to be home, so that could only mean that—

Moriko's dark eyes narrowed.  "You told Tsuyoshi that I was coming over?"

"I .. ." the other woman fidgeted guiltily.  "I had to tell him, Mori.  He's my husband and . . ." Her voice trailed off, but Moriko easily read the 'and since you're single, you'd never understand.'

The older woman turned away and walked out of the kitchen.  "I'll talk to Ken about the box, but then I'm leaving."

The test fluttered and then floated off the refrigerator door.  A dark shadow fell over it as something blocked the light of the doorway.

Rika flinched.  "Hello, Tsuyoshi."

". . . Oh, Rika . . ."

**------------- & -------------**

The sunlight streamed through the large windows of the flower shop and Sora hummed softly under her breath as she made her way up an aisle of poinsettias.  She knelt down check one of the more sickly plants for blight before she moved it to a higher shelf where there was more light.  The flowers shop would never be her passion.  It would never even be an interesting pastime.  But she loved the flowers and she loved her mother, so despite her busy schedule, she didn't really mind working there in the afternoon.  

The bell jingled as the door swung open and she turned, a slight smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.  "Welcome to—"

Taichi fairly bounced into the shop, a broad mischievous grin on his face.  His voice was a light singsong as he swept her up and spun her around.  "Soooooooooora~chan!!!"

The brunette stiffened in surprise and alarm.  "Taichi?!  What's gotten into you?  Put me down right now!"

He sniffed, but did as he was told.  "You're just no fun, Sora-chan."

She shot him a harsh glare and began to fix her clothes.  "And you need to grow up.  I'm at work; what if someone had come in and seen that?  What are you so happy about anyway?"

He leaned against the counter and his grin settled into a soft smile as he ran a hand back through his wild hair.  "Have you talked to Yama yet?"

"No."  She cocked her head to the side and frowned.  "He took off right after school today.  Why?  You're acting weird."

Tai shrugged and pushed himself off the counter.  He turned around and idly reached out to touch one of the flower arrangements.  Sora scowled and walked around to where she could see his face again.

"So what do you think of Ichijouji?" he asked without looking away from the pointed holly leaf in his hand.

"Ichijouji?"  The girl turned to frown at the floor.  "What do I think of him, or what do I think of what you did to him?"

The former leader of the Digidestined looked up at her sharply and unintentionally tore the holly leaf from its stalk.  "You don't have to lay into me for that, okay?  Yamato already gave me the third degree and then some."

The girl leaned forward and pulled the damaged flower arrangement out of his reach. "Why did you do that to him?" she snapped back.  "That was . . . That was _weird_, Taichi!  And it was mean.  I know you're mad at him, but—"

"I just wanted to scare him!"  Taichi jerked away from the counter with a hiss of anger.  "You know what, Sora?  Never mind!  I don't need your help anyway!"

She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could escape.  "Tai . . . I'm sorry.  What do you need help with?"

He hesitated for a moment, as though he were going to walk out on her anyway and then he hunched over slightly.  "I felt bad," he muttered in a low voice.  "After talking with Yama-kun this morning . . . I felt bad.  For scaring him like that."  Sora frowned and leaned forwards a bit as he continued.  "So I decided I wanted to make it up to him . . . You know, kinda make peace with him.  I went to Tamachi today to see him, but he's so _cold_ . . . I was just wondering if you could help.  Is all," he finished lamely.

She sighed and released him, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him for a moment.  "Just be nice," she said at last.

He blinked in confusion.  "What?"

The girl shrugged and her short hair shivered with the motion.  "I don't know.  I just get the feeling that he's not too used to it.  Maybe if you're nice and you prove that you really want to be his friend, he'll let you in."

Taichi pursed his lips thoughtfully and his brown eyes flickered as he considered this.   "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well . . ." Sora frowned in consideration.  "I suppose you could take him out somewhere.  Or even just listen to him talk sometimes.  Try to draw him out.  But don't come on too strong or you'll force him away.  Find something that you both enjoy."

Tai leaned forward attentively, taking in everything she said as she warmed to the subject.  They talked for the better part of an hour.

**------------- & -------------**

It was an effort to even close the door to his apartment.  His fingers didn't seem to want to work properly and he felt lightheaded and empty.  He felt transparent, like people were looking right through him and he wasn't really solid.  It was a distant despair, but it hung over him menacingly, somewhere just on the verge of swallowing him up.  He wanted to scream—to affirm his existence.  He wanted to break things.  He wanted his razor.  

Ken was putting on his slippers when he first noticed something was amiss.  His father's shoes were here along with a pair he didn't recognize.  And a pair of guest slippers were missing as well.  His father was never, ever home this time of day, let alone home with company.  He hoisted his book bag onto his shoulder with a grimace and ducked his head so that his long hair fell into his face and hid his eyes.  He really didn't feel like putting on an act right now.

"Ken, dear?"

"Yes, Mother."  The boy moved up the hallway quickly, craving the sanctuary of his darkened room.  He waved as he breezed past the living room where his parents and their guest were sitting.

"Ken, come in here."

Ken stopped and stiffened.  He had never heard his father sound like that—never.  Not even when Osamu died or when Ken had come back.  He sounded hard, cold . . . He sounded like Ken did.

He dropped his book bag in the hallway and turned around, the insubstantial vague feeling melting into a ball of dread that settled heavy in the pit of his stomach.  He walked back into the living room slowly, a shuffle replacing his normal flowing walk.  He peered up through a curtain of hair and felt his joints freeze up when he saw his father's face.  Ichijouji Tsuyoshi's expression was tight and unnatural as though his flesh had been stretched taunt over the bones.

Ken stopped in the doorway and his gaze flickered to his mother.  Rika looked pale and her hands were shaking.  Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red as though she had been crying.  Her breath was coming in shaky gulps.  An olive-skinned woman was sitting on the couch next to her.  The woman had a severe demeanor, white business suit, and black hair pulled up into a tight bun.  Ken scowled.

Doctor Hanamura Moriko.  

He hated that woman with a passion and was vaguely aware that she reciprocated the feeling.  She was always meddling and poking her nose where she didn't belong.  Even when he had been a child she had been there—always telling him what to do.  Always keeping him away from everyone.  Alone.  

_"No, Ken-kun.  Your brother is busy."  _

_"Mama isn't feeling too well today, Ken-kun."_

_"Why don't you go out and play, Ken-kun?"_

_"Wait until your father gets home, Ken-kun."_

Her presence had been a suffocating constant after Osamu died.  Whenever his father was at work there she was: an active barrier between him and his mother.  Always telling him she knew how he felt.  Always telling him that talking helped.  Always prying to know whether he had any friends other than Osamu and why had he been so sick lately and how did he feel today . . . It was sickening.

Ken tensed and shifted towards the door, unwittingly assuming the air of a startled animal.  "Father . . .?"

Tsuyoshi leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of his face, hiding behind them.  His dark brown eyes locked onto his son.  "Come in here, Ken."

The boy obeyed, giving Moriko a wide berth.  "Yes?"

"Sit."

Ken hesitated.  "Father, I have to—"

The man stood up so quickly it startled Ken and he grabbed the front of the boy's shirt, dragging him close.  He didn't yell though; it would have been better if he had.  Instead, he only jerked the teen close and hissed in his face, making him shy back.  "The only thing you _have_ to do is sit down!"

"Ichijouji-san . . . Please."  Moriko stood up and placed a restraining hand on the man's arm.  "You're not helping."

Ken waited for his father to jerk away from her or snap at her.  Their enmity bordered on legendary in the Ichijouji household and stemmed back to some unknown incident from high school.  Tsuyoshi did neither.  

Instead Ken's father released him and the boy immediately jerked back, his eyes wide and surprised.  Hanamura reached toward him, but he pulled away.  A demand was lodged in his throat, but his muscles were painfully contracted and he swallowed it.

The doctor smiled gently.  The expression looked foreign and synthetic on her face.  "Hello, Ken."

The boy's features seemed to dance for a moment, emotions running rampant on his face before it smoothed over into his customary mask.  Hanamura and his father were not supposed to be tolerating each other.  As far as Ken knew it the first time the two had even been in the same room for more than three minutes without exchanging veiled insults.  

Ken was not fond of change.  "Good afternoon, Hanamura-sensei."  He straightened his clothes, smoothed his hair and stood straight up, a plastic smile pasted across his face.  "Is there something I can do for you?"  

Hanamura smiled and Ken's fingers twitched.  He had a sudden, extremely powerful urge to hurt her.  Badly.  

The woman stood and mimicked his motions slightly, brushing her imaginary flyaway hair from her face.  "Actually, Ken-kun, I'm here to help you."

Ken narrowed his eyes.  "Help _me_?"

The woman nodded and cast Ken's father a sharp glance.  The man sat back down and she turned back to Ken.  "Yes.  To help all of you."  She gestured to one of the armchairs.  "Please . . . won't you sit down?"

He warily settled into the chair and crossed his legs.  He didn't know what was going on and he hated that.  Not only did he have to worry about . . . everything, but now his parents were acting strange and he wasn't sure how to handle himself.  On top of that, there was this . . . woman . . . here sitting as though she _belonged_ here and saying she wanted to "_help_" him.  He barely resisted the urge to sneer at her.  _Help_ him all the way to the nearest mental institute, no doubt.  Hanamura had been trying to get into Ken's head ever since Osamu died.  He had no intention of playing this game with her today.  

His eyes flickered to his father, but the man was scowling at the floor.  Something like panic blossomed in his stomach and he ruthlessly quashed it and smoothed his face into his customary cold mask.  "Please forgive me for being forward, but what exactly do you mean when you say 'help,' Hanamura-sensei?"

She smiled again and sat back down on the couch.  "You are a bright boy, Ken, so I will not attempt to play games with you.  Things must be very difficult on you, are they not?  Since your brother died, I know that—"

The boy's eyes darkened and he sunk further back in the chair.  "I fail to see what relevance my brother's death has on the matter at hand."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw his father tense and he stiffened a bit.

Hanamura's smile tightened and for a moment she looked as though she was going to laugh.  The boy shifted uncomfortably as she turned to Rika.  "Perhaps you should tell him, Rika-chan."

The petite woman twisted slightly in her seat, unused to being put on the spot.  Seeing his mother's discomfort, Ken narrowed his eyes at Moriko.  He already didn't like her, and she wasn't racking up any additional points by picking on his mother.

Rika leaned forward suddenly, a pleading expression on her face.  "I really didn't mean to, but . . ." She looked at the floor, her obvious distress unnerving everyone except for Hanamura.  "Ken . . . Baby, why didn't you just tell us . . .?"

The teen frowned.  "Tell you?"  

Tell her what?  They couldn't possibly have figured out the truth about his disappearance and Wormmon was far too discreet to be caught, so he immediately discounted the Digital World.  His grades?  No.  He always did well in school just to avoid this sort of thing.  

He looked to his father for help, but none was forthcoming.  He turned back to his mother.  "Mother . . . What are you talking about?"

His father reached under the table and pulled out a box that had been hidden from view.  He half-threw, half-placed it on the table and settled back in his chair.  His dark eyes seemed to burn into Ken as he pointed at the box.  

Ken barely resisted the urge to cringe from an invisible blow as he suddenly flashed back to Osamu.  His brother would look at him just like that . . . always right before . . .

_"You can't just go around touching other peoples' things, Ken!!  It's too late!  Now I can never trust you again!"_

"Look at it."

He swallowed hard as his father's voice dug into the heavy silence.  His mother started crying.

"Father—"

"Look at it."

Moriko's eyes seemed to burn and she made no move to intervene again.  Ken felt a sharp stab of anger move through him as the air of expectation thickened into something heavy that made it difficult for him to breathe.  So his father wanted to play chicken with him?  

The teen suddenly found his dull and tiresome family unbearable—how dare that act like they give a damn after all this time!  What right did they have to suddenly change their long-established behavior patterns?  And to do it _now_!!  It was intolerable!  They didn't have any clue what he was going through and they were doing this now.  And now Hanamura Mariko . . . this had to be her fault.  She must have done something to cause this.

The rational part of Ken's mind rebelled against this theory, but he ignored it.  Ken was rapidly becoming an expert at ignoring inconvenient circumstances—especially when some part of him was the circumstance.

Violet eyes hardened and he leaned forward and gently touched the lid from the box.  For some reason his mind flashed to the old yellowed stairwell leading down from the roof and for a second he imagined himself standing on the roof with this box.  He pictured himself turning it upside down and dozens and dozens of knives falling out of the box.  They all fell point down and impaled hundreds of dwarfish, misshapen people on the ground.  All the people had his face.  

He stood and jerked the lid off the box, violently and dumped the contents out of the coffee table.  He wanted this over with.  He wanted to get away from the cannibalistic-looking Hanamura and his mother's wet, bleeding eyes and go to his room where he could hold Wormmon and let the little insect whisper to him and convince him he wasn't a bad person and that everything would be okay and somebody loved him.  There were several loud thuds as the contents of the box hit the table.

Ken watched dully as several books and something that looked like brown fur tumbled through the air to bite into the soft, finished wood of the table.  Several tiny pieces of paper were next, fluttered down like deformed snow.  After the loud clatter of falling objects the silence that followed was impressive.  Everyone seemed to be holding his or her breath, waiting to see who would break the peace first and say something that would only lead to an argument.  There wasn't really anything that could be said that could ease the tension.

The objects lay scattered on the table like a twisted jigsaw puzzle of an equally twisted life.  Ken's eyes watched the light shine playfully off the shiny golden words emblazed on the cover of one of the books before they flickered to the other books. He recognized all these books now and knew why had been selected for placement in this box.  Mein Kampf.  The Prince.  The Art of War.  The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.  Guerilla Warfare.  The History of Torture and Execution.

He stopped and his eyes flickered to his father's hard face.  These were only things that a good little Kaiser should know.  One of the picture pieces caught his eye, though.  He almost laughed out loud when he realized what it was.  It was a picture of himself.  It had been decapitated.  

Hundreds of mangled pictures of Ken lay on the table, their pieces scattered and twisted.  He had taken them from magazines, newspapers, screenshots, web pages, year books, photo albums, portfolios, and anywhere else he had happened to see an image of himself smirking at him from something, and taken them all back to the room and mauled them in the darkness.  Some of them had just had the heads chopped off, but some of them also had intricate cuts that had obviously taken hours of work and immense concentration.  The most disconcerting thing, however, every single photo had had the eyes meticulously sliced out.

Ken gently brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, pausing to allow his long fingers to linger in his indigo tresses.  He wondered what they found more alarming: the Nazi paraphernalia or the pictures.  Either way, he had the strangest urge to start giggling.  They were such idiots.  And here he had gotten himself all worked up over nothing.

Idiots.

His mother's stifled sobs were loud and awkward and he settled back down in the chair.  He wanted nothing more than to cross his arms and legs, but firmly kept them open and in front of him.  Anything else would have been viewed as defensive body language and he wasn't at all certain that he had anything to be defensive about.  This prying in his room bit however was going to have to be stopped . . .

He turned back to his mother and felt a brief stab of something close to glee at the anguished expression her face.  It served her right.  She really needed to stop being so nosey.  At least she hadn't found anything truly damning.  "Tell you what?" he inquired calmly.  This conversation had suddenly returned to being boring again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father lean forward and wondered what had him so upset.  Normally his father acted like Ken was a cobra in the nursery, but now he looked furious.

Moriko smiled thinly in what could have passed as a comforting manner had her audience been different.  "These pictures . . . You did this?  You do this to yourself?"

Ken blinked once in a slow cat-like manner as though considering whether or not to answer her question.  "They're only pictures."

Rika visibly slumped at her son's emotionless response.  For a brief instant he had shown a bit of his old spark, even if it was only in anger, but now he had returned to the same flat voice, the same empty flat eyes, the same . . . living death.  She wondered where all the life in him had gone.  She even missed his rages, the fabulous tantrums that he would throw if she so much as stare him too long.  It had begun exactly nine months after Osamu had died and steadily escalated until his disappearance.

He would throw things; even hit her should she come too close._  "Stop hovering!  Why are always _looking_ at me?  Just go away!"_

_Go away!_

She could feel more tears building up in her eyes.  She had cried more tears than she knew what to do with today.  She didn't know where they all came from or how they could possibly be more.

Hanamura settled back into her chair a bit, making herself more comfortable.  "And the animal . . .?"

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Animal?"  His thoughts began to race feverishly.  _Wormmon?  Did they find you?  Where are you?_  The thought was enough to make his blood run cold.  He blinked and barely resisted the urge to leap across the room and throttle this smug-looking woman in front of him.  "What animal?"

Moriko obligingly rose and pushed aside some of the books.  A small squirrel lay on the table: most likely an adolescent.  Its tail and ears had been cut off and its eyes and mouth were stitched shut.  

Ken looked up at Moriko and lifted an eyebrow.  "It's a squirrel.  Do you need me to identify anymore backyard animals for you?"

"I suggest you stop being defensive and sit down, Ken-kun."  Moriko smiled thinly.  "You could be in a great deal of trouble."

Ken remained standing.  "For what?  I didn't do anything."

"Did you mutilate that squirrel?"

"No."  The boy shrugged and crossed his arms.  He tilted his head slightly to the side.  "I bought it.  From a little shop downtown on one of my forays with Tanuki."  He smirked.  "If you don't believe me, call the Rat.  He was there."

His smile broadened at the look on Moriko's face.  This was almost worth the trouble.  Almost.  

Ken walked over to the table by the door and picked up the phone.  "In fact, let's do that right now."  He dialed the number.  "Moshi mosh, Tanuki-san.  Yes, this is Ken.  I'm fine, sir.  And you?  Yes.  Is Minokichi-kun there?  Thank you."  He turned and smiled sweetly at the adult while he waited for the white-haired boy to answer the phone.  

_"Sup, mon Capitain?"_

"Rat, I need you speak to a friend of my mother's for a moment.  Thanks."

He walked over to the doctor and handed her the cordless phone.  "Here he is."

Moriko's eyes narrowed and she drew her lips into a smile thin line. Her footsteps were heavy as she walked across the room and took the phone from Ken.  "Moshi moshi.  Yes.  Actually . . . Tanuki-san, I have a question about a squirrel.  Yes, a squirrel."

Ken crossed his eyes and smirked and Moriko's eyes flickered over to Rika as she listened to the boy on the other end of the phone.  The woman was wringing her hands again.    

Moriko frowned faintly.  "Mmmm-hmm.  Ken-kun's mother discovered it in—Yes.  That's it.  You did?  He did?  Do you know when?  Yes.  I see . . .  Yes.  Thank you, Tanuki-san."  She hung up and turned back to Ken's family.

Her eyes flickered slightly.  "Tanuki-san confirmed Ken's story—"

"It's not a story," the boy interrupted.  "It's what happened."

The corner of the doctor's mouth twitched.  "I . . . apologize, Ken-kun."

"Of course you do," he muttered in disgust.

"Do you think that I'm patronizing you, Ken-kun?"  

The "Ken-kun" most likely came out more condescending than she intended it to.  

Ken balked.  "I think that you think you're cleverer than I am and are trying to get me to paint myself into a corner."  

"So you think that you're smarter than me?"

Ken's shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh as though he were talking to particularly dull child.  "I never said that.  I said that you think that you can manipulate me.  Or my mother."  He sneered.  "As evidenced by this ridiculous farce with The Squirrel."

"Farce?  You think that I manipulate your mother?  Like you?"

For a moment everything was silent and then Ken slowly shifted sideways, cocking his head slightly to the side and tilting it back at an unnatural angle so that his hair fell into his eyes.  "And what," he murmured in a lazy voice, "makes you think I do that?"

"Experience."  Hanamura smiled, a tense cold expression.  "Or rather I should say professional instinct."

"Ahhhhh . . ." Ken smirked ferally.  "So they called you here to be _my_ shrink now?"

"The proper term is psychiatrist, Ken-kun."

His eyes flashed.  "And here I thought that mother was the only crazy one in the family."

"Actually, Ken you and your mother have a great deal in common."

"I somehow doubt that."

Rika shifted anxiously, her eyes darting from her child to the doctor to her husband and then back to Ken.  Ken and Moriko seemed to be having some sort of silent battle that everyone else was excluded from and Tsuyoshi was glaring at her like her wanted to lunge across the room and throttle her.  

He had demanded to be present when "that woman" came over.  Rika had had to call and tell him after she called the office.  She simply _had_ to.  Tsuyoshi usually decided on things like this and the very idea that she had gone behind his back . . . But she was afraid.  And now he was glaring at her like that . . . Her husband had never so much as been in a name calling fight, let alone hit someone, but for some reason Rika shrunk back from that look.  Tsuyoshi had changed.  She had changed.  Everyone had changed and, while Rika wasn't sure how or why, she had a feeling that it wasn't for the better. 

Ken broke the silence.  He straightened up in his chair and looked slightly bored.  "She called you here?" he asked without looking away.

"Your mother is worried about you, Ken—"  

"I don't know why," he interrupted.  "It isn't like I've done anything wrong."  The boy looked away from the doctor and to his mother.  His eyes hardened and it somehow seemed like he was freezing over from the inside out.  "I wish you would stop interfering.  Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't need you mucking about in my life all the time?"

Rika wilted visibly.  Hanamura looked furious and Tsuyoshi remained eerily quiet, apparently waiting for her to answer.

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously when she didn't say anything and he pushed himself to his feet.  He bowed slightly to the doctor.  "I apologize for wasting your time, Hanamura-sensei, but I have quite a bit of work to do.  If you'll excuse me." 

He walked out of the room stiffly, ignoring the hard look he knew was being leveled at his back by the irritating Hanamura woman.  To think . . . they actually called _her_ of all people on him . . . He could feel a lovely migraine coming on and his joints were beginning to ache. 

Ridiculous.  Ridiculous!!  What did they take him for?

He closed and locked his door behind him and sighed heavily.

"Ken-chan?"

The boy peered up in the dim light at his bed.  

"Ken-chan?"  Wormmon puttered over to the edge of the bed and Ken leaned back against the door.  "What's wrong, Ken-chan?  You look pale."

The human closed his eyes and shrugged in an attempt to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders.  "Long day.  Mother was in here snooping, wasn't she?"

The digimon nodded.  "She was just putting away clothes and then she knocked something down in the closet and started acting weird."  The little creature puffed his chest out proudly.  "I hid in the corner.  She never even knew I was here."

Ken nodded and said nothing.  Wormmon deflated a bit.  Normally when he told Ken where he had been and what his mother had been doing, the boy would hold him or give him a treat.  This sudden lack of interest was odd and worried the virus.

"What happened today, Ken-chan?  I heard yelling."

The boy shook his head rapidly and his hair whipped around his head with the motion.  He pushed himself off the door and began to pace to the length of the room.  "What do you know about Yagami Taichi?"

Wormmon blinked in confusion.  "Yagami Taichi?  Isn't he one of the Chosen?  He was par—"

With a sigh, Ken waved a hand, cutting Wormmon off.  "No.  Never mind."  He stopped pacing and looked up as though something had just occurred to him.  Wormmon resisted the urge to shy back from the child's piercing stare.  "It's not safe for you here.  I should send you back."

Wormmon stiffened.  "No.  You need me here, Ken-chan and—"

"And if dear Mother and that frigid bitch start snooping, they will find you eventually and what then?  I can't risk losing you to that woman."

"What woman?"  Wormmon's tail pincers clicked worriedly.  "There's a woman?"

Ken nodded again and walked over to the wall across from the foot of the bed.  He reached up and gingerly touched the frame of a photograph hanging on the wall, one of only three pictures in the room and the only thing hanging on his walls.  It was a photo of him and Osamu.  He had been a little bit over a year old and Osamu had been around six or so.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ran a finger tenderly over the smooth glass.

The smile faded and he turned around to look up at his partner.  "They called a therapist . . . An old friend of mother's actually," he said softly.  "This . . . will only get worse now."  His face twisted slightly and he looked away from Wormmon to the floor.  His hair fell across his eyes, hiding his expression.  "If they found you, Wormmon . . . If they took you . . ." he trailed off and the possibilities hung heavily in the air.

"But Ken-chan—"

The boy shook his head and turned away, unwilling to hear anything more on the issue.  Wormmon made a small noise of disgust and burrowed into the covers slightly, hurt and upset.  Why did everything have to be so difficult all the time?  His eyes flickered back to his boy and softened with concern.  _Something bad's coming.  I know it is . . ._

Ken closed his eyes and sighed heavily, his slim frame leaning back against the wall.  He knew Wormmon was watching him and it made him tired; _feeling_ made him tired.  And there were all these people around him today trying to goad him into this and that.  He knocked his head against the wall behind him.

_Thump_

What stupid little people.  He was bone weary of them all.  

_Thump_

His anger simmered beneath his skin, building in his joints, clogging his elbows and wrists and knees and ankles until he felt stiff and uncomfortably.  It was a physical thing.  A slow moving tar just below his skin that made his body ache where his hair stood on end.

_Thump_

It didn't hurt.  It made him want to do something, though.  

_Thump_

Something drastic. 

_Thump_

Something reckless.  

_Thump_

Something so completely unexpected . . .

Ken's hands suddenly flew to his head and he slightly hunched over just in time to stop himself from slamming his head back into the wall again.  He stayed like that for an instant as though he were afraid that if he stood up he'd start banging his head again.  He had been doing that quite a bit lately.  Perhaps he should stop.

"Ken-chan . . .?"

Flat violet eyes stared up at a pair of mournful blue ones.  Ken uncurled and pulled away from the wall, looking slightly awkward and uncertain.  Wormmon seemed to frown, his liquid eyes somehow looking larger than they really were.

The digimon waddled his way over the covers to the very edge of the edge of the bed.  "I wish you wouldn't do things like that.  It hurts me when you do things like.  It's not good for you, Ken-chan."

The boy sighed and walked over to lift the little creature up off the bed.  "I suppose."

He carried Wormmon over to his desk, set him down, and began rummaging around for the chocolates he stored up just for the little virus.  The digimon watched his hands attentively as they emerged triumphant with the foil wrapped bars.  The human broke one of the bars into pieces and held one out to the digimon.  It was gone in a snap.

"If you want," the virus type managed around a mandible full of Hershey's, "I'll go back.  But you have to visit me."  He swallowed and turned his best puppy-dog eyes onto his partner.  "You'll visit me, won't you, Ken-chan?"

Ken laughed softly and brushed his hair out of his face.  He held out another piece of chocolate.  "It's only when I'm away.  If Mother saw you, who knows what she would do.  She seems to have taken to snooping again."

Wormmon grunted as he chewed.  Talking to Ken about his family was like talking to a brick wall.  Especially when it involved his mother or brother.

Ken smiled as he watched his digimon eat.  The chocolate would put Wormmon to sleep and then he could get to business.  Thank god she hadn't found his razors.  She probably would have resurrected the entire Nihon Kaigun and held him hostage until he "confessed."  At least that might have been more entertaining than that idiot Hanamura woman's clumsy attempts to pick his brain.  He fed Wormmon some another piece of chocolate.

What stupid little people.  All of them.

God, how he hated them all.

**------------- & -------------**

"Moriko . . ."

The woman shook her head and her face looked pained.  "Rika, what more do you want me to do?  You cannot help him if he does not wish to be helped.  All I can tell you is to keep an eye on him; it's highly possible, likely even, that he's becoming self-destructive.  This behavior will not fix itself and will only escalate as time goes by.  Try to get him to trust you, to let you in.  The more social bonds he has, the less likely he is to do something rash.  Right now he thinks that he's alone in the world.  Prove him wrong."

"But he's just so hard to talk to."  Rika was almost wringing her hands.  "He . . . he frightens me . . ."

The doctor nodded.  "I understand that, Rika-chan.  Believe me . . . I know how . . . difficult Ken has been.  I see a lot more than you think.  But for now . . . They're only pictures . . ."

Tsuyoshi stared at the table.  His voice was flat and cold.  "And the . . . animal . . . Moriko-san?  Was he lying?  Surely you have some long, drawn out explanation for that?  Perhaps it's all Rika's fault?  Blame the mother; that's been successful for you people in the past, right?" 

Rika flinched as though she had been struck and Moriko's eyes flashed.  Her friend reached out and gripped her arm with something approaching desperation.  

"It is my fault, isn't it?"  

"It's nobody's fault, Rika-chan!" she snapped in irritation.  Her dark eyes flickered to Tsuyoshi pointedly.  "Or at least not yours.  And I am _not_ a Freudian.  Ken . . ." she bit her lip, knowing the response she'd get before the words even left her mouth.  "I strongly encourage you to get him psychiatric help."  She hesitated when she saw Rika's eyes begin to tear up dangerously, but then forged ahead.  "Ken . . . does not seem feel things properly.  If—and I stress the if—if he was lying . . . The killing and mutilation of small animals is very often a warning sign of psychopathy or sociopathy . . . He lacks the ability to empathize with others and—"

"No, no!" Rika interrupted.  "He's not like that on purpose, he just doesn't know better.  He doesn't understand some things sometimes and—"

"Rika-chan," the psychiatrist interrupted gently, "I have known Ken all his life and given the level of manipulation I've seen him demonstrate and the fact that he seems to have quite a sadistic streak in him, it's clear to me that he understands the emotions his words and actions evoke perfectly.  He does it because he _enjoys_ it, Rika, and because he just doesn't care.  You said it yourself: your baby is _gone_."

Rika wilted a bit.  "But a psychiatrist . . .?  Don't you think that that's a bit much?"

The other woman barely repressed the urge to reach over and slap her friend.  "Ken needs help, Rika-chan," she said intensely.  "And if he does not get that help he could become a serious danger to both himself and others if he is not already."  She leaned forward intently.  Tsuyoshi, she knew, would not budge on this issue, but perhaps Rika . . . "_Please_," she whispered.  "You called me here because you love your son.  _Please_ get him the help he needs."

Tsuyoshi stood.  "I'm sorry to have taken up your time, Moriko-san, but I think that you should go now.  My wife and I need to talk."

The doctor looked up at him and then nodded reluctantly.  Rika stood and escorted her to the door.  Tsuyoshi stood and picked up the newspaper from under the table.  He was furious.  He was furious with Hanamura for coming here.  He was furious with Rika for calling her.  He was furious with Ken for causing this, and he was furious with himself for reasons that he couldn't even begin to fathom.  He felt small, powerless, isolated and alone.  He felt more like an inconvenience than a man or father.  He felt . . . terrified—choked and incompetent.

Rika entered the sitting room and began to clean up the mess on the table.  She wasn't sure what to do with it.  She certainly had no intention of returning them to Ken, but something inside her rebelled against throwing them away.  A chill struck her as a shadow fell over her.  She looked up and shivered at the expression in her husband's eyes.  They looked like Ken's eyes.

"You shouldn't have called her here."

Rika lowered her eyes to the ground and he stood over her for a moment more, whether that was because he wanted to say something more or merely wished to frighten her, she didn't know, but when he left she exhaled sharply.  The mutilated pictures fluttered into the box as she cleaned the table.  Occasionally they brushed the side of the cardboard and noise they made was like a hundred tiny sighs, sad and powerless releases that accomplished nothing.  

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Seven:**

**Forked Tongues **

**Starbucks rules the world, and Japanese post-war modern architecture and Christianity are put to the test.  Also, Yamato acts and Tanuki reacts—both with interesting results.**

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	7. Forked Tongues

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

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I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW :**::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

Enjoy the fic.

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**_"What are losses . . . and words of honor? . . . All nonsense!  _**

**_One might kill and rob and yet be happy . . ."_**

**~Leo Tolstoy**

War and Peace

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**Chapter Seven:**

**Forked Tongues**

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**[_A/N_****_1: The church in this chapter is the Tokyo Church of Christ—externally hideous and internally stunningly beautiful.  Or so it seems—I can't back that up first hand.  If you care, here's a link to see for yourself: http://www.intlcc.com/tokyo/e/ewelcome.html_**

**[_AN2: This chapter is dedicated to _****_Tri_****_-san, my fiftieth review for TFToHaE and the person who wanted to see Yama "grow some balls and beat some sense into Tai."  Whoo-hoo!  ^_~   Thanks for the reviews and may the beating commence!!_****]**

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The mug was placed on the table with unnecessary force, making a loud bang.  When this elicited no response, Ken briefly toyed with idea of bludgeoning his companion with the ceramic, but discarded the thought almost immediately.  "Well?  We've been here for almost an hour.  What do you want?"

"You really shouldn't drink cappuccino; you're high strung enough as it is." Taichi took a final, noisy slurp of his milkshake and sat back, his brown eyes shining with faint amusement.  "You know what your problem is, Ken?"

"Oh, please enlighten me, Yagami."

The older teen snorted faintly and poked idly at the strawberries in the bottom of his cup.  He propped himself up on one elbow and stared into the cup, intentionally ignoring the seething boy across from him as he spoke.  "You keep too much in."

Ken opened his mouth and then closed it again.  He blinked in confusion before he remembered to be annoyed.  "What?"

"You heard me."  Taichi stabbed a strawberry with his straw.  "You keep too much inside.  You never talk about what's bothering you—what's hurting you."

"What are you nattering about?  Nothing's hurting me."

Tai looked up and smiled.  "Bullshit," he replied cheerily.  "Something's obviously hurting you, or you wouldn't be hurting everyone else.  You lash out to keep people away.  No people, no pain.  You're afraid."

"You are so full of it."  Ken settled back in the booth and ran a hand back through his hair.  He lidded his eyes slightly, giving him the appearance of a somewhat drowsy snake.  "Maybe I act like an asshole because I _am_ an asshole, you ever think of that?"

"Yep."  Taichi removed the straw and pointed it at Ken.  A glob of mashed up strawberries and melted ice cream hit the table with a splat.  "You didn't look like an asshole to me after that soccer game.  You looked like a kid who just got the buhjeezus scared out of him."

Ken paled and turned scarlet.

"Relax," Tai said soothingly before the boy could snap at him.  They looked into one another's eyes for a moment before the older teen looked away.  He laid his hands flat on the table in a slow measured motion and stared at the backs of them.  "Do you know why I'm doing this, Ken?"

The boy looked at him warily for a moment before crossing his arms and pulling back into himself.  "No.  That's why I came, remember?"  He didn't come to prove Yagami wrong, to prove that he wasn't afraid of him.  He _didn't_.

Tai was still staring at his hands.  "What I did to you after the game . . . I did it to scare the hell out of you."

Ken scowled, but held his tongue as Taichi continued.  "You just looked so . . . _you_.  So frickin' cold and untouchable.  I got sick of it.  Every time I see you on TV or somewhere it's like you're made out of plastic with that same smile always stuck on your face.  I wanted to do something that I knew would make you really feel something . . . I guess I just figured that that would rattle you."

He looked up to see how Ken was taking his words, but the flat, cold expression in his companion's eyes gave nothing away.  Resisting the urge to bite his lip, he pressed on.  If he didn't get the kid hooked now, this entire thing was gonna blow up in his face.  "At least, that's how it started . . . and then . . ." he leaned forward earnestly and startled Ken by suddenly reaching up and tenderly cupping his cheek in his hand, "and then I just couldn't get you out of my head."

Ken's eyes flickered and Taichi almost smirked.  Sora had been right.  Ken wasn't used to dealing with people who weren't yelling at him, smothering him, or shoving papers, cameras, or soccer balls in his face.  Tenderness—true compassionate tenderness—was not something that his life experience had left his equipped to deal with.  Taichi was approaching him in a way he had never known before . . . And that meant that he was vulnerable.

When the boy didn't make any attempt to move away from him, Tai moved closer and dropped his voice to whisper. "So I went to see you at school to convince myself it was nothing and that I was imagining things . . . but then I saw you sitting there . . . looking so small . . . And I couldn't.  Because I knew that it was more than my imagination."  

Tai was halfway standing now and he leaned closer to Ken over the table, indecently close.  He noticed with distracted amusement that the boy's eyes were slightly glazed and he could taste the cappuccino Ken had just finished as the boy's soft, panting breaths brushed his lips.  Tai leaned forward just a bit more so that his lips brushed Ken's ever so slightly as he spoke.  "You're so beautiful when you're angry, Ken-chan . . ." 

He leaned forward just a little bit more and . . .

Ken jerked back so quickly that he knocked the wind out of himself when his back hit the booth.  They stared at one another, Tai's eyes deep and luminous and Ken's wide and frightened above a delicate rose-tinted blush, and the only thing that could be heard for a moment was the paler boy's deep, hungry gasps.  No one had seen them.

Tai sat back and looked down at the leather of his seat.  "I'm sorry.  I forgot myself."

"I'm going to be late."  Ken stood mechanically and pulled out his wallet out of his pocket.  A gentle hand reached out and caught him as he removed the wallet.  Ken looked up and felt a muscle in his jaw clench.  "Let me go, Yagami."

The other teen tightened his grip.  "Give me a chance, Ken.  Please."

"To what?" the pale boy hissed as he yanked his hand of Tai's.  He tossed some money on the table.  It was more than enough yen to cover their tab.  "To what?  To be your partner in some freakish, perverted, faggot sex ritual?!"

Several heads in the cafe turned around in surprise.  Neither teen noticed.

Taichi stood his ground.  "No.  To be your friend.  To—"

"I don't _need_ any friends!"

The taller boy narrowed his eyes and Ken suddenly felt very, very small.  He felt like he did sometimes in the stairwell—like he was so tiny a breath could crush him and his bones were made of glass and if he moved to soon he'd break into a thousand tiny pieces and he wanted nothing more than to get as far away from Taichi as humanly possible and—

"Please?"

It was only one little word and Ken would never know why or how he was swayed by it, but something in it made Ken hurt.  The pain was different from the normal emptiness he felt and he knew that this could not be cut away or ignored or avoided.  He looked away.  

"Fine."

He hated himself for saying it as soon as he opened his mouth, but didn't dare retract it.  He didn't want to see that odd look in Taichi's eyes again or feel that crushing feeling anymore.  

A gentle hand reached over and Tai cupped Ken's chin, forcing him to look up at him.  He smiled at the boy.  "Thank you."

He dropped his hand and turned around to get his coat.  Ken stared after him blankly for a moment.  _Something_ had just happened there . . . something important . . . He just didn't know what yet.

His watch beeped, startling him.  It was 5:00.  If he wasn't home for dinner soon, his mother would have fits. The boy snorted softly under his breath.  Home, then dinner, then visit Wormmon, then homework.  He had an extra-credit project due next week that he hadn't even begun.

Taichi's smile widened as Ken turned his back to him.  "So . . ." The younger teen stiffened at the sound of his voice.  "I'll see you tomorrow?"

The dark-haired boy turned and scowled.  "Tomorrow?"

"Yep!"

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "I have things to do."

"Like what?" the older boy asked in a disturbingly upbeat voice.

"Avoid you."

Taichi's face fell.  "Did you already forget your promise?  Besides, that pale face of your looks like it could stand to smile once in a while.  Meet me at the park in Tamachi at four thirty?"

Ken frowned.  "Look, Yagami, I—"

"Great!"  Taichi winked at Ken.  "It'll be a blast."  

And then the other boy dashed past Ken and out into the faded daylight.  Ken stared after him perplexedly for a moment and briefly entertained the idea of not going at all, but then shook his head.  "I'm sure that I deserve this on some cosmic level," he snarled softly to himself.

Besides, it wasn't as though he really had anything to do tomorrow.  Yagami was an interesting break from the monotony.  It certainly wasn't because he was curious to see the other boy.

Certainly not.

As Ken stepped out onto the sidewalk he couldn't help but look up and down the street for a distinctive bush of brown hair, but the Child of Courage was long gone.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

_Nothing, he told himself firmly.  After all . . . Yagami was only an interesting diversion.  Another player in a pointless masquerade.  He was only curious to see where things would go from here.  _

And it had nothing to do with Yagami himself.

_Nothing._

**------------- & -------------**

His father wasn't home—wouldn't be home for hours, his mother told him.  This naturally transformed dinner into a forty-five minute long torture session during which Rika slid him sidelong glances when she thought he wasn't looking.  He was always looking though.  Even staring down and mashing up his rice with the dull, tapered edge of his chopsticks, he could _feel her eyes on him.  _

They had neither spoken nor been alone since Hanamura's last visit.  She seemed even more frightened of him and he . . . Well, he had never really had anything to say to her anyway.  She wasn't worth his time.  

Especially since he was replaying this afternoon with Taichi over and over again in his mind.  He picked at the memory like an itchy scab, analyzing it for any error, anything he might have missed, for anything that would help him figure out Yagami Taichi.  Even the slightest hint that would tell him . . . _why.  Why Yagami could provoke him.  Why Yagami could read him.  Why Yagami could . . . arouse him?_

The boy had never been able to do anything like that before.  So what was different now?

_Nothing, he reiterated silently.  __This all means nothing.  I am in control.  Yagami has no hold over me.  Never mind that he tastes like syrup and butterscotch.  Never mind that he smells like autumn air.  _

Never mind that when he touched Ken, it felt like stars sliding under his skin.  That was all tactile—physical.  There was no power in that beyond momentary illusion and immediate satiation.  Ken was maddeningly patient when it came to such things.  And the idea that he was in some way looking forward to it or could ever possibly need or desire it was simply ludicrous.  He was _Ichijouji **Ken, damnit.**_

This was only a passing amusement.  Nothing more.

_So then why can't you stop thinking about him?_

"Because he tastes good," the boy murmured so softly that he was unaware he had even spoken.

Rika's head snapped up and she leaned forward almost eagerly.  "Did you say something, Ken, dear?"

He turned to her slowly, without lifting his head, so that he was staring at her sideways and one delicate hand convulsively clutched at the chopstick between his fingers.  

The petite woman jerked back suddenly as though the look in his eyes burned her.  

"No."  His voice was flat and he remained still for a long minute, not even blinking, simply staring at her as though he'd like to ram those nervously grasped chopsticks into her skull.  She bit her lips and pulled back even more, almost cringing in her chair.

"I . . ."

The boy stood, his chair scraping roughly on the wooden floor as it slid out behind him.  The sound was loud and jarring in the tense silence.  "I'm not hungry anymore."  
  


Whatever brilliant response she no doubt made to that was lost to him as he made his way down the hall to his room with slow, deliberate steps.

It was getting closer and closer every time.  He'd almost done it that time.  He'd almost shoved those chopsticks into her eye sockets.  The need to do something was absolutely overwhelming.  The _Need To Harm.  It ached inside him._

Ken was only vaguely aware of the sound of chopsticks slipping out of his numb fingers to clatter to the ground as he stretched open his fingers to grasp the doorknob.

_What the fuck am I doing?  _

The door shut behind him with a muffled thump.  He closed his eyes and leaned against the back of his door, pressing his forehead against the cool wood and listening to the sound of his breathing.  His thoughts had begun to move faster than he could hold onto them and he knew that he was getting a headache.  

The boy pushed himself off the door, walked across the room and opened his closet.  He stripped off his jacket and undershirt and then stood up on his tiptoes, reached up to the top shelf and fumbled around for a moment before his questing finger brushed across the back edge of a razor blade.  He retrieved the metal and paused, staring at himself in the mirror.

"What the hell are you doing, Ichijouji?"  Ken stared into his own eyes and tried to calm his thoughts again.  "Just what the hell are getting yourself into?"

Without looking away, he slowly slid the blade over the soft, pale skin on his belly.  A small line appeared and then quickly filled with red.  He watched as his reflection cocked its head to the side and watched the cut fill and bleed over so that a small red stream flowed down his stomach.  Sometimes, if he stared into the mirror long enough, he could pretend that he wasn't Ichijouji Ken.  For just an instant he could pretend that he was someone else watching that stupid, stupid, stupid little boy lie, and deceive, and hack himself up every night.  

He drew a second line across his skin with the razor.  It was a long cut, but very shallow.  It probably wouldn't even scar.

He smiled at himself.  He was getting good at this—too good.  He could barely feel the pain.   A third cut was made, this one much deeper than the two that preceded it.  Blood flowed instantly, and a crisp, harsh pain went through him, radiating outward and burning through the haze in his head.  He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, an expression somewhere near ecstasy on his face.

A fourth cut.

His thoughts were so much clearer now . . . He didn't even know what he had been so upset over.  Stupid Ken-chan.  Stupid Yagami.   Stupid parents.  He had been right in what he had told Tanuki.  What was it all for?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

Ken cut himself a final time and let the razor slip from between his bloodied fingers.  He would have to sterilize it and clean the carpet later.  For now though, he simply wanted to bask in the pleasant afterglow of the pain.

His legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed bonelessly to the floor.  The pale youth smiled an empty, frightening smile and stared up at ceiling with glassy eyes.  He ran his fingers absently over the marks on his stomach, pressing down hard to increase the pain.  He was so very _tired_ . . . 

"Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing . . ." It was a statement.  It was a prayer.  It was a litany he repeated over and over and over again until the pain faded into the same familiar ache and the words themselves were merely meaningless noises that he didn't understand and didn't know how to stop.

**------------- & -------------**

Tanuki eyed his friend with a dark frown of displeasure as Ken removed his cleats and pulled on his boots.  The dark-haired boy ignored him until the Coon decided to start throwing things at him.  A tube of toothpaste became airborne, quickly followed by a wet towel and a stopwatch.  One of their teammates had the misfortune of walking past at that moment and narrowly missed getting smacked by an incoming set of keys.

Ken looked up as a shoe hit the wall just over his left shoulder.  "What?"

The other teen scowled.  "_What, he says to me.  What!"  The pale youth pulled on a pair of jeans with a sharp, jerking motion.  "You've been avoiding me."_

Ken stood and pulled out a comb.  He closed his eyes and, tilting his head to the side, began to detangle his long damp hair.  "Rat, if I were avoiding you it would mean that I cared if I saw you."  He opened his eyes and tilted his head the other way to detangle the other side.  "I don't care."

The American snorted derisively.  "Don't be such an ass, Ken."

"I've always been an ass, Rat.  Now why are you throwing things at me?"         

"Because you've been avoiding me!" the paler boy snapped.

"Mmmm . . ." Hair detangled to his satisfaction, Ken cracked his neck and then sat down on the bench again, a bored expression on his face.  "Didn't we just cover that?"

Tanuki looked away.  "What happened to you at that game?"

"Game?"

"Yes."  He looked back up and his eyes were unusually piercing.  "That game against Odaiba.  You've been acting . . . off.  And I'm not the only one who sees it."

The Japanese boy sighed heavily.  "Nothing.  And why should I care what anyone else thinks?  Or what you think for that matter?"

"Now you're just being snarky."  Tanuki scowled and turned away again.

For a moment neither teen said anything, then the Coon stood and stretched, a look of sudden determination on his face.

Ken leaned back lazily.  "It's not your concern anyway, Rat.  I am quite capable of handling myself."

"No," the other boy stated flatly.  "You're not."

Ken stiffened and his eyes flashed briefly with an unidentifiable emotion.  "Really?" he murmured almost inaudibly.  The silence that followed held the promise of violence.

Tanuki averted his eyes from the cold gaze and scrubbed a hand back through his short hair.  "I want you to come with me."

Ken scowled.  "What?  Now?"

Tanuki nodded.  His hard carved features were unusually unanimated, his customary smirk and belligerent attitude nowhere in sight.  "I want you to come with me because I want to show you something."

Ken frowned warily.  "Show me what?"

Suddenly the boy smirked, but it was not at all comforting.  "The face of God."  Tanuki held out his hand.  "Come on."

**------------- & -------------**

"This is a church?"

Tanuki nodded.

It was church—an enormous, bulky, angular church. Ken blinked and tilted his head back to stare at the front of the building.  It consisted entirely of square glass windows, over 152 in all, and hung forebodingly over the glass entrance to the place like a broad sloping forehead.   The left side of the building was incongruent with the boxy front, a strange half glass, half concrete attempt at a parallelogram.  The parallelogram had been cut in half, the bottom part was the glass and the top part was concrete.  A large cross that seemed to be pasted haphazardly to the concrete part stabbed at the sky in an almost offensive fashion.  The building was, in Ken's opinion, hideous.  It reeked of modernity to the extent of blasphemy and something about it made him cringe inside.

The Coon grinned.  "It's supposed to be an architectural masterpiece.  Or so they say."

Ken cocked his head to the side and wrinkled his nose, giving his white-haired friend an odd look.  "I didn't know you were a Christian, Rat."  He said the word "Christian" with disgust.

The other boy gave him a sly grin and his eyes twinkled almost mischievously.  "I'm not.  I just like to let my parents think that."  He winked.  "It makes my life a whole lot easier."  He grabbed Ken's wrist and briskly set off towards the building, dragging the dark-haired youth forward.  "Let's go then."

Ken frowned, but allowed the indiscretion.  "Isn't it closed?"

The other boy only turned and smirked cheekily.  

Ken's eyes narrowed.  "Rat . . ."

"Oh, relax, mon capitain!" the other boy said airily.  "I have a key."

"Why?"

Large blue eyes turned and batted innocently at his friend.  "Now, Ken m'dear, don't you trust me?"

The shorter teen scowled faintly.  "You stole the key and made copies of it?"

Tanuki's smirk took on a slightly gleeful look.  "Of course."

"The security system—"

"Is useless," the white-haired youth countered.  "Now stop dragging your heels."

Ken frowned, but complied.  Tanuki marched up to the doors confidently and removed a large ring that held at least twenty five keys of varying size and shape.  Still smiling, the teen chose one, a medium size key with a red label on it, and slid it into the lock and turned it.  Seconds later, the doors swung open. 

He stepped aside and allowed Ken to peer through the open glass doors into the lobby.  His smile was cruel and mocking as he gestured expansively to the waiting building.  "After you, mon cher Ichijouji-_SAN."_

Violet eyes flickered briefly as though a wisp of smoke crossed them and Ken stepped forward.  Laughing to himself, Tanuki followed and closed and locked the doors behind them.

**------------- & -------------**

The blond frowned at the taller boy sprawled out on his couch.  Taichi ignored him and turned a page in his Politics book.   

"Tai-kun?"

Silence.

"Taichi?  . . . Taichi!"

Large brown eyes crinkled at the corners as the wild-haired teen looked up with a scowl.  "_What-chi?!" he snapped impatiently._

Yamato frowned as he took in the scowl on his sometimes-lover's face.  "I talked to Sora."

Brown eyes narrowed and the darker teen turned back to his book.  "So?"

"Stop this.  Please?  While there's still time—"

"Would you just let go of it?!"  The book slammed shut with a snap and Taichi sat up and rubbed his eyes in exasperation.  "Damnit, Yama . . . I thought you needed to study . . . Isn't that why I'm here?"

Yamato pushed himself out of his chair and dropped to the ground in front Taichi.  "This . . . _thing with Ichijouji . . . You have to stop it!"_

Tai frowned at the ground beside his friend.  "Sora told you what I said then?  And what she told me?"

The blond nodded.  

"Did you tell her the truth?"

"And would it have made a difference if I did?"

Taichi said nothing.

"Goddamnit!  You have to stop this!  It isn't right!  Toying with him like this isn't right!"  Yamato placed his hands on Taichi's knees and leaned forward earnestly, his blue eyes pleading with the other boy.  "I saw you at the Starbucks, Tai.  And I know that you've met up with him since then.  Several times."

"You followed me."  It was not a question.

Yamato ignored him.  "I saw him, Taichi.  I saw the look on his face."

"And?"

"And, _yes, goddamnit, your stupid little farce is working!  You can__not go all the way with this!"_

Taichi slowly raised his head and his deep brown eyes settled on Yamato's face.  The musician felt a chill run through him.  The look on Taichi's face . . . It was something he'd never seen on the taller boy before.  Emptiness.  A swirling vortex of vacant hunger, of _want, that made his blood run cold._

Yamato swallowed hard and shied back, frightened.  "Taichi-kun . . ."

"And why not?"  Taichi smiled, but the expression was only macabre, splitting his face in two unnaturally.  "Will you stop me, Yamato-chan?"

They stared at one another for a moment, the stillness oppressive.

"You're losing it . . ." Yamato's voice was only a whisper, but it seemed obscenely loud.

Taichi laughed at him.  The sound was so heartbreakingly familiar that Yama found tears rising in his eyes as it slipped out from between the other boy's lips.  "Jealous?"

Slender alabaster hands clenched.  "He's going to fall in love with you!" the blond hissed.  "How can you be so casual about this?  How can you be so fucking _cruel?"_

Taichi's face instantly transformed into a snarl and he leaned so far forward it looked as though he was about to fall off the couch.  "_Because he deserves it!!" he roared. _

"Idiot!" Yamato snapped.  He lunged forward, grabbed Taichi's shoulders, and shook the stronger boy hard.  "Fucking idiot!  _Let him **go!"**_

Taichi pushed off the couch, sending them both sprawling on the ground.  Yamato groaned as his shoulder hit the corner of the coffee table.  He reached up and grabbed a handful of Taichi's hair twisting it painfully and forcing the larger teen to curl over to his side to avoid having a large chunk of his hair torn out.  Yamato rolled over after him to straddle his hips and punched the boy in the stomach, a glancing blow.  Tai gasped slightly.

The blond dodged a fist and got clipped on his shoulder.  The other fist smashed into his face.  The blow was weak, but he could already feel his left eye throb painfully.  The smaller teen responded in kind and hit Taichi in mouth, quickly followed by two more hits in the gut for good measure.  Tai let loose a small, strangled scream and he crunched upwards, his knees hitting Yamato in the shoulder blades and his hands immediately going to his stomach and he attempted to curl into a fetal position.

Yamato pulled a fist back to hit him if he tried to move again, but Taichi simply shuddered beneath him for a moment before relaxing against the soft white carpet.  His lower lip was split and swollen and a bruise was forming on his chin.  Yamato would have bet money that his stomach was bruised too.

He stared down at his friend's face and felt something like despair well up in him.  Blue eyes fluttered shut and he bent down, pressing his face in the hollow of Taichi's neck.  Neither was aware of the tears that slid down his flushed cheeks to mingle with Tai's blood and sweat.

The two of them lay gasping, both drawing in slow, shaky breaths that didn't seem to contain enough air.

"I won't forgive you," he suddenly rasped softly into Taichi's damp skin.

Taichi tensed.

"If you do this . . . I won't forgive it, Tai-kun.  Not ever."  The blond sat up and his eyes were red.  A slowly darkening smudge marred the pale skin below his left eye.

"Yamato . . ."

"Not ever!" he insisted fiercely.

". . . Get off me."  There was no tone or inflection in Tai's voice.  It was flat and empty like his eyes.  Like Ken's eyes.

Yamato swallowed and felt tears stinging the edges of his eyes.  "Taichi—"

Taichi looked away.  "Get.  Off.  Of.  Me."

The blond slowly stood up and stumbled dejectedly back over to his chair.  He said nothing as Taichi gathered his books and silently shoved them into his backpack.  It was only after the other boy was gone that he became aware of the tears sliding down his cheeks.

When his father came home he found him curled up on the chair in the dark, sobbing quietly and, for the life of him, Yamato couldn't find the words to tell him why.

**------------- & -------------**

It was only upon entering the enormous main room of the church that Ken understood why this building was considered beautiful.  The entire back wall was glass, row upon row of windows that bathed the pews in golden sunlight.  Tiny lights were suspended from the ceiling, resembling stars more than conventional lighting, and the altar in front of the windows appeared to literally glow.  Not a religious person himself, the indigo-haired boy could not help but feel a twinge of reverence.

He walked forward, the sound of his boots echoing weirdly off the white walls like thunder.

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" Tanuki asked from somewhere behind him.  He could almost hear the smirk in the paler boy's voice.  "An architectural masterpiece.  Or so they say."

Ken's eyes lingered on the golden glow of the altar and he lifted a hand slightly as though to reach out and touch it.  The movement was so small he didn't even register it.  "Why did you bring me here, Rat?"

There was no reply.

"Tanuki . . .?"

Silence. 

The grating sound was the only warning he had and it was only his incredible speed that stopped him from getting the top of his head smashed in.  He threw himself to the side, twisting as he fell, the side of his shoulder clipping the high sides of one of the congregation pews.  The light flashed off the silver candlestick holder as it slammed hard into the arm of the pew.  Ken rolled over to the center of the aisle and stared up at his friend for a moment.  

Tanuki straightened and held the candleholder up, a slightly outraged look on his face.  "Aluminum."  He held the bent metal up for Ken to see.  "It's made out of aluminum."

The white-haired boy shrugged and raised the three pronged apparatus above his head again to bring it down on the slightly smaller boy.

"Rat!"  Ken rolled to his feet as the dented metal hit the floor he had been laying on moments ago.  

After dropping into a brief lunge stance to prep himself while Tanuki recovered, Ken whirled around and kicked the candleholder out of his friend's hands.  It flew off into the pews where it landed with a loud bang.

Tanuki rushed him and they both fell to the hard floor with a grunt.  Stars exploded behind Ken's eyes as his skull cracked on the marble surface.  He felt a heavy weight straddle his stomach and hands grab his wrists and pin them to the ground.

"Get off of me, Rat!"

"Shhh, Ken-chan."

The dark-haired boy pulled his knees up sharply, hitting the other teen in the back and forcing him to pitch forward.  Tanuki growled as his grip slackened.

"Goddamnit!"

Ken twisted, rolling over onto his stomach, and tried to wriggle out from under him.  His vision swam sickeningly as sharp pains radiated from his shoulder.  Strong hands grabbed at his belt and jerked him back.  He groaned as his hands made strained shrieking sounds as they slid against the floor in an attempt to find purchase.  The boy tried to buck as Tanuki's weight came to rest on the backs of his knees, trapping his legs and preventing him from kicking the other boy again.

"_Bastard," he hissed in frustration.  Waves of pain rose up behind his eyes._

"Hush," Tanuki whispered, sounding breathless.  He grabbed Ken's flailing arms and successfully managed to pin his friend's wrists securely behind his back, forcing them up so that his shoulders and elbows jerked painfully beneath the strain of the unnatural position.

"Bastard!" Ken snapped louder.  He bit his lip in rage and frustration.  "I'm going to _kill you."_

Tanuki cracked his neck and frowned down at the back of Ken's head.  "That was pathetic.  Now what's going on with you?"

Ken sneered at the floor.  "None of your damn business.  Get off of me, Rat!"

"Tell me what's going on, or _make me get off of you," Tanuki responded coldly.  "You've been . . . __off for too long for me to ignore.  Now fess the fuck up."_

Groaning at the futility of his position, Ken jerked his arms again.  "Why should you care?"

"I'm bored."

"You're pathetic!"

Tanuki jerked his arms painfully in warning.  "Ichijouji!"

"Pathetic," the boy sneered again.  He turned his head to the right so that Tanuki could see half of his face.  His eyes glittered feverishly.  "You're pathetic and a coward," he hissed, saliva hitting the floor as he tried unsuccessfully to swallow.  "And if you don't let me up right now, I swear I'll kill you."

"Liar.  You wouldn't dare."

Ken smirked.  "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Rat.  Now get off of me; you're starting to bore me."

For a moment the taller boy was still, his gem-like eyes glittering in the light as he stared deep into Ken's violet ones.  Then he released Ken's wrists and stood.

Ken rolled over and licked his lips, eyes locked on the other boy.  He wiped the saliva off his mouth.  Tanuki stared at him defiantly.

"Why did you bring me here, Rat?"

A twisted smile contorted the other's narrow mouth.  "To show you something."

Ken took a step towards him, his hair falling into his face.  "And what exactly is that?"

"How do you feel right now, Ken?"  Tanuki took a step towards him and reached up to tenderly cup a hot porcelain cheek.  "Do you feel it?"

Ken jerked away from his touch and sneered.  "Feel what?"

"Like you've just had your wings ripped off," he whispered in an almost hungry tone.

Ken laughed darkly.  "I lost my wings a long time ago, Tanuki."

"So why struggle?  Why fight me?"

"Because _you don't get to do that to me!" he snapped, a hint of his famously uncontrollable temper coloring his voice.  "__You don't make that choice for me!  __I decide when I drop out of the game, __no one else!"_

And Tanuki smiled.

For several minutes Ken stared at him with narrowed eyes.  "You're such a fool.  A sad, pathetic fool."  
  


"Perhaps," the other boy agreed with a supercilious smirk and a shrug, "but I'm all you have."

Ken smirked and then punched the other boy hard in the gut.

The Coon grunted in pain and folded to the ground, gasping for air.  Ken realized that he was actually trying to laugh.  

The indigo-haired boy allowed himself a hard smile that would have made anyone else's blood run cold.  "I suppose it's better than nothing then."  He turned and walked out, his footsteps oddly quiet in the large room, mere whispers in comparison with their earlier thunder.

Behind him, Tanuki crouched down on the floor with his hands cradling his stomach and laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. 

**------------------ & ------------------******

**Chapter Eight:**

**These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth******

Weee; revelations, introductions, and discoveries!  Worship the wonder that is westernization!  Plus, Taichi meets Tanuki . . . O_O;;;;;  Ruht-row . . . .  Mr. Rock, meet Mr. Hard Place.  Hajimemashite.  Dozo yoroshiku.

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	8. These Fine Things of Heaven & Earth

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

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I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene—meaning that the rating will go up.  

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat.  Please keep in mind that Taichi –is- OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though.  Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **PLEASE REVIEW** :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

Enjoy the fic.

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**_"Though we share this humble path, alone  
How fragile is the heart?  
Oh, give these clay feet wings to fly  
To touch the face of the stars._**

**_Breathe life into this feeble heart.  
Lift this mortal veil of fear.  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears;  
We'll rise above these earthly cares._**

**_Cast your eyes on the ocean;  
Cast your soul to the sea;  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me."_**

**~Loreena McKennitt**

**_Dante's Prayer_****__**

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**Chapter Eight:**

**These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth**

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"How long?"

"A little bit over a month now.  After the soccer game against Odaiba."

It was January.  There had been no snows this year and the tattered festivities of the New Year were still clinging desperately to the doorframes and windows of the neat shops that lined the clean-swept streets.  It was surprisingly warm for January, but the chill that had fallen over the two teens in the café was more than enough to make up for it.  Low-hanging, ominously black clouds blanketed the sky thickly and cast weird shadows over the boys' faces as they stared out the window.

Tanuki tore his gaze from the dreary scenery and raked his blue eyes over Ken's impassive face coldly before he turning to his peach tea.  "What's his name?"

Ken took a sip of his cappuccino and turned to look out the window again.  He stared past his transparent reflection to the busy streets outside.  A woman dressed in a leopard print faux fur coat passed.  Her bright red lipstick was slightly smeared, like blood on the edges of her mouth.  "Yagami Taichi."

"Yagami," the Coon repeated, tasting the name with great displeasure.  "Odaiba High.  An average idiot from a school of average idiots."

Ken nodded, not the least bit upset by the disgust in his friend's voice.

Tanuki emptied a packet of Sugar in the Raw into his teacup and stirred it with a slender wooden stick that had been so graciously provided for him at the counter.  A muscle in his jaw twitched.  "You can do better, mon Capitan-kun."

Ken turned way from the window and lifted his cappuccino to his lips, eying his friend over rim of the mug with something close to amusement.  "Perhaps."

"So why are you telling me?" the other teen demanded irritably.  "He doesn't seem to be causing you any problem."  He swallowed his tea and grimaced.  It still wasn't sweet enough.

"Mmmmm . . . I want you to meet him."

Tanuki choked on his tea.

Ken blinked, slightly startled as the other boy slammed his cup down on the table and started coughing and gasping.  He cocked his head to the side and watched Tanuki's face turn bright red.  "You alright?"

When the coughing fit had passed, the American wiped his eyes and launched a volley of curses in English at Ken, Starbuck, westernization, globalization, and the world in general, only half of which Ken understood.  "Dandy," the boy snarled as he tried to regain his composure.

Ken took a sip of his cappuccino.  "People are staring, Rat."

The boy huffed and twisted slightly in the booth so that he could glare at anyone who dared so much as blink in his general direction.  Several heads quickly turned the other way.  Somewhat mollified, he turned back around and began to fuss with his clothes, ignoring the decidedly amused glint in Ken's eyes.

Tanuki grabbed a napkin and began to sop up the spilled tea.  "Why the hell do you want me to meet him?"

Ken shrugged, a casual roll of his shoulders.  "It seemed appropriate.  Besides, he's coming in from Odaiba today.  I figured that it would be easier for me to just drop you off at the train station and pick him up at the same time."

The Coon balled up the wet napkin and dropped it on the table with a splat.  "You never walk me to the train station."

"So?  I am today.  Isn't that enough?"

Tanuki scowled and stared down at his cup.  "Yah, Ken-kun.  It's enough."

And Ken smiled at him.

**------------- & -------------**

Taichi stepped off the train and peered into the crowd, eyes scanning for a now-familiar mop of ink-indigo hair.  A low whistle sounded and an overly-loud voice boomed out of the speakers incomprehensibly, informing the jostling patrons that the train was about to depart.  The brunet fought his way through the crush of people, still scanning for Ken in the gray pre-storm light.

Things were moving predictably slow for the brunet.  Even after several sit ins with Sora (she had been thrilled that Taichi had taken it upon himself to extend an "olive branch" to the fallen Kaiser) and arguments with Yamato, Tai had made little progress with the caustic Tamachi boy emotionally, but physically, the older teen was on a roll.  While Ken still shied back, it took less and less effort to get those impressive shields of his to crack.  it wouldn't be long before they collapsed entirely.  In fact, Taichi was almost sad that their little game was drawing to a close—he found that he enjoyed teasing the moody and taciturn Kaiser.    

A flash of blue caught Tai's eye and he stood up on his tip toes to try and see over the crowd.  It was not, however, the sleek hair of his Ken-chan that attracted his attention; it was a vaguely familiar mop of gleaming white hair which crowned a slender looking boy with large blue eyes.  Taichi stopped and frowned darkly as the two boys came closer.

"Fucking ridiculous," the white-haired teen declared, sounding extremely put out.  

Ken, his attention absorbed by his companion, shook his head and sighed.  "Rat . . ."

"I don't like it—consorting with _their_ type, I mean," the boy labeled "Rat" continued as though he hadn't heard.  "I don't trust it."

Ken shrugged, a slight smile curving his lips upward.  "They're all worthless.  Every one of them.  So I hardly see how it matters."

"It _matters_, Ken-kun.  Nothing good will come of this.  You wait and see."

Abruptly Ken stopped and Taichi narrowed his eyes to see the young genius reach towards the other boy in a surprisingly intimate gesture.  Tai pushed his way through the crowd.  "Ken!"

The indigo-haired boy turned, slender eyebrows lifting slightly as he caught sight of Taichi coming towards them.  It was all Tai could do to stop himself from reaching out and yanking Ken away from the blue-eyed boy who was currently eyeing him the way someone looks at a particularly unpleasant insect that they're debating on crushing.  

Ken seemed oblivious to the tension and gestured to the boy with a faint sneer to Taichi.  "This is Tanuki Minokichi.  He's a friend of mine."

The white-haired boy smiled, a tight, unpleasant expression. "I believe we met at that last soccer game."

Taichi's eyes narrowed at the memory and he frowned.  

"You can call me Coon though," the boy continued, his smile growing with Tai's frown.  "Ken-kun here just calls me Rat."

Ken frowned and Tai turned to the boy curiously.  "Why do you call him Rat?"

Tanuki smirked and Ken scowled slightly, an almost invisible lowering of his brows.

The American teen waggled a finger at Taichi.  "He can't pronounce the word 'raccoon' properly.  Go ahead and ask him.  He'll say 'rat-coon' every time."

Tai looked amused and eyed the pair curiously.  Ken glared up at him before turning back to his friend.  "You'll miss your train.  _Rat_."

"Mmmm . . ." Tanuki remained staring intently at Taichi, that cruel, unpleasant smile fixed on his flower bud lips.  "I don't mind."

A muscle in Tai's jaw twitched.  "Ahhh, but you have had my dear Ken-chan all day Tanuki-_kun_."  Taichi smiled his own hard smile.  "It's hardly fair of you to take up my time with him like this, now is it?"

The glare that Tanuki gave the Taichi was so forceful that for a moment the brunet thought that he had been hit.  Then, Ken surprised them both by stepping between the two of them and leveling a look at the Coon that put the taller Tamachi boy's expression to shame.  

"Go home, Rat."

The dismissal was clear and the boy momentarily bristled, his crystalline eyes flickering to Taichi's face in an obvious statement of distrust.  Ken watched him evenly, his expression unchanging, and Tanuki suddenly grinned and bowed to gracefully before him.

"As you wish . . . Ken-kun."

Still smiling, the boy called "Rat" sidestepped his friend and stalked past Taichi, deliberately slamming his shoulder hard into the older boy.  Tai stumbled and looped an arm around Ken's shoulder to keep his balance.  Tanuki smiled at him sweetly, almost baring his teeth at the brunet before he turned away.

Without another word to his friend Ken slipped out of Taichi's loose embrace and began to walk away from the platform.  After casting one last uncertain glance back at the glaring American, Taichi turned and followed suit, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the strange twinge between his shoulder blades where Tanuki's startlingly blue eyes bore into him.  Tanuki watched the Odaiba teen until he and Ken were out of sight, his eyes fixed on the point where they had vanished until his train pulled up with a hum and a whoosh.  After a few seconds of contemplation, he allowed the surging crowd to carry him forward onto the train, but he couldn't help but wish that he were in Tamachi right now and by his Captain's side.

**------------- & -------------**

It had begun drizzling softly outside.

"So?"

Taichi plopped down on the couch and made himself comfortable.  "So what?"

Ken frowned as he entered the living room, a small line of irritation marring the smooth skin of his forehead. "You're the one who wanted to come over, Yagami.  Wasn't there a reason?"

"What?"  Large brown eyes blinked up at him innocently.  "I need a reason to hang out with my boyfriend?"

A muscle in Ken's jaw twitched and he turned his face away sharply from the smiling brunet.  "I am _not your boyfriend, Yagami!"_

The older teen laughed gently.  "You're blushing!"

"I am not blushing."  The former Kaiser hunched his shoulders slightly to hide his burning cheeks and crossed his arms, stubbornly keeping his back to the brunet.  "And I am not your boyfriend."

"You are too blushing!  And if you're not mine, then who's are you?  That rat kid's?"  Even thinking of the boy in jest made a small muscle in Taichi's jaw twitch.  He pushed himself off the couch and over so that he could see Ken's face.  

Enough with the damn Tanuki kid.  He wasn't Taichi's concern.

As he approached the other boy Taichi saw that, if anything, Ken's already flushed face had gone even redder.  "You're so stupid, you know—"

Strong arms suddenly wound around his narrow waist, startling the smaller teen as he was pulled back into a warm embrace.  Ken shuddered.  _How did he move so fast?  I didn't even hear him get up._

A warm whisper slipped into his right ear, making the boy bend away from the invasion of his personal space and shiver again.  "Look at you," Taichi murmured in tender amazement.  "You _are blushing . . ."_

"Sh—shut u—"

Taichi's arms tightened.  "I _like_ it."

Ken leaned back and closed his eyes in surrender as slow, gentle kisses descended upon his exposed neck.  "Yagami—"

The Digidestined's lips brushed against his skin as he spoke through the kisses, forcing up goosebumps all over his lover's body.  "When do your parents get home?"

"I—" A small gasp left his lips as one of Taichi's hands wandered down to the inside of his left thigh.  "I don't know."

Tai smiled.  "Where's your room?"

Ken groaned and shifted restlessly as the older teen captured the skin of his neck between his teeth and began to suck on it.  "We shouldn't be doing this . . ."

"Why not?"

Ken only moaned in response as Taichi's hand slid up to tenderly cup the growing warmth pooled between his legs.

"Are you telling me you don't want this?"  The former goggle-boy laughed quietly in the back of his throat and gave Ken a gentle squeeze.  "That's certainly not what _this_ is telling me . . ."

"Nu—no . . ."

Tai reluctantly released him and turned Ken around so that he could look him in the eyes.  The lily-skinned boy was pale except for a deep, deep red flush liberally sprinkled across his cheeks and dainty nose.  His vivid eyes were a startling shade of blue and had acquired that glazed look that made Taichi's blood pulse hungrily in his veins and told him that at that moment he could get Ken to do almost _anything_.  He smiled at his lover's dazed expression and softly ran his knuckles over Ken's cheeks.  The boy flinched almost imperceptibly.

"Ken . . ." He smiled as the indigo-haired teen's already enormous pupils dilated further.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  I promise."  He gently kissed Ken's forehead.  "I'd never hurt you.  You're precious to me."

Ken quivered violently in his arms for a moment and closed his eyes, turning his face away.  ". . . This way . . ."

A wild surge of triumph and something close to glee went through Taichi as he took Ken's small hand within his own and followed him down the narrow hall to the very last door.  He barely waited until it had closed behind him before he launched himself at the pale creature he'd finally managed to capture.

Ken cried out in surprise as Taichi pulled him close and kissed him savagely.  He gave himself over utterly, too tired to feel weak for surrendering and too drunk on the taste of his attacker to care that his jacket was almost being ripped off him and his body was being crushed against the door he couldn't move to lock.  He whimpered pathetically when the top buttons of his undershirt were tugged roughly from their holes and his shirt was untucked as Tai's eager hands slid up his stomach and kisses slid down his neck . . . Down, down, down, to the fragile bow of his collar bone . . . A wicked tongue and skilled, cruel fingers playing over the thin, thin lines of his—

Taichi jerked up suddenly and Ken instantly went cold.  His eyes widened in horrified realization and he jerked back, hitting his head on the door in a vain attempt to escape.

His scars.  His goddamned _scars_.

His marks, his release, his control—utterly revealed.

He thrashed in Tai's grip, exposed and desperately trying to avoid the blank look of bewilderment in the other boy's face.  Taichi grabbed Ken's arm and jerked it forward so that he could see the youth's exposed chest and shoulders better.  His face contorted slightly at the sight of the thin, smooth scars that marred the younger teen's flesh.

Ken tugged his arm, but couldn't break Taichi's grip.  "Let me go, Yagami," he whispered in a dry, desperate voice.

"No."  Tai pulled Ken closer and gripped his other wrist, holding him fast.  His brown eyes crinkled at the edge and he felt strangely hollow as he looked at the marks that marred the pale flesh. "You . . . You do this to yourself?  You hurt yourself like this?"

Ken looked away from him.  "It's not your concern."

Tai jerked Ken's hands to his chest, forcing the smaller boy to lurch forward.  "It is my concern, Ken!  _You_ are my concern!"

The indigo-eyed boy wrenched his arms free and tried to turn, but Tai gripped his arm and spun him back around.  Before the teen could protest, he gripped the lapels of Ken's thin, half-undone undershirt and tore it all the way open.  Buttons flew in every direction.  

Ken froze, exposed, and Taichi inhaled sharply at what he saw.

Scars.  Dozens of pretty little scars carved into Ken's thin chest, into his stomach, and vanishing with his slender hips beneath the waist of his pants.  It was as though someone had taken a piece of chalk and carelessly etched all the world's pain in thin, neat lines across the former Kaiser's skin.

Ken's shoulders slumped and he looked fixedly at the ground.  "Let me go, Taichi."

Tai slowly drew Ken close to him again, suddenly aware of how tiny the bones in his wrist were and exactly how little effort it took to bring the boy into his embrace.  He released Ken's wrist and the hand dropped to the boy's side, long fingers dangling limp and lifeless.

He leaned down and slowly kissed Ken's neck, sucking lightly on the flesh for a moment.  The shorter teen made a small mewing sound in his throat and tilted his head back for easier access.  Taichi wound an arm around his waist and put the other one behind Ken's back for support, tilting the boy back and trailing kisses down his collar bone to his chest.

Ken gasped, his dark blue eyes fluttering shut when his lover's tongue flicked over one of his nipples and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Taichi's shoulders.  Tai repeated the motion, making the slender body in his arms jerk slightly.

"Taichi . . . Stop."

Tai ignored him and turned his attention to the other nipple.  Ken moaned.

The hand that had been supporting his back suddenly vanished, forcing him to clutch at Tai's shoulders.  He felt fingers begin to gently work at the zipper of his pants and shuddered.

Tai moved back to kissing his neck.  "You're a lie, aren't you, Ken-chan?  My Ken-chan . . ."__

The boy began to struggle half-heartedly, distracted by the feel of Taichi's wandering fingers and the way his tongue felt against his skin.  "Don't call me that, Yagami."  He groaned as his zipper slid down and Tai slipped his hand into his pants, teasing his half-formed erection.  "Stop it.  Let me go."  He was panting by now, but his partner didn't seem to be the least bit affected.

The older teen pulled back suddenly and stared hard into Ken's eyes.  "You.  Are.  A.  Lie.  And I can see right through you."

Ken jerked away from him then, feeling frightened without really knowing why.  He glared at the teen for a moment and his hands clenched into fists.  

Tai looked away.  ". . . I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said that."

Ken spun around and fumbled with his zipper, his movements shaky and uncoordinated.  

Tai shifted uncomfortably behind him.  "Ken . . ."

"What do you want, Yagami?" the younger teen whispered.  His voice sounded dusty and faint.

"Just Taichi, Ken."

The pale boy turned around, his face contorted with an expression that could have been pain, but looked closer to anger.  He opened his mouth, but Taichi continued before he could speak.  "And I want you.  All of you."

". . . What . . .?"

Tai blinked and smiled a slightly goofy smile that infuriated Ken for some reason.

"I said I want you.  I want all of you.  I want your anger.  I want your hate.  I want your joy.  I want to see you laugh.  I want all of it.  Always."

Violet eyes blinked rapidly in disbelief and Ken stepped towards him with such aggression that for a moment Taichi thought the smaller boy was going to smack him.  "For the love of God, **_WHY_**?!"

"You're important to me, Ken-chan."  All the blood drained from the indigo-haired youth's face and Tai impulsively reached up and cupped his chin in one hand.  "You're an important person to me."

A violent shudder moved through Ken as though he had been doused with cold water and all the tension drained from his body.  _"Oniichan? . . . Am I important?"_

"I . . . Taichi . . ." Ken tried to pull away from him, his delicate features twisting slightly.

It was so quiet that the only thing that could be heard was the quiet noises of their breathing and Taichi stepped closer to him.  For the first time since their relationship had begun, Ken didn't flinch or shiver.  Tai gently wrapped his arms around Ken's narrow waist and pulled him closer until the shorter teen was resting his head against Tai's chest.  A pair of slender arms rose and wrapped around Tai's neck and Ken began to shake slightly in his arms.  

"Taichi . . ." Ken looked up at him and the wild-haired teen was amazed to see tears sliding down his cheeks.  "I . . . There aren't words . . ."

Tai tightened his grip around Ken's waist with one arm and moved the other hand up catch a single crystal drop on one finger.  He marveled at its clarity for a moment and then gently lifted up Ken's chin so that they were staring into each others' eyes.  

Ken sighed and a chill seemed to go through him.  "I think I love you, Tai."

Tai froze.  He knew that he should say something.  He knew he should feel triumphant—this was what he had been waiting for.  He should take advantage of this situation.  He should—

He had no idea what he should do, but Ken's eyes were so very blue in that instant and the feeling of him pressed against his body was making it hard to think and his head seemed to be spinning ever so slightly.

Ken's earnest expression cut into him painfully and his soft, inviting lips parted slightly.  A slow, strange warmth filled Taichi's mind as he leaned down and gently grazed the pale teen's lips, silently asking permission for more.  _Asking_ . . . Ken's eyes fluttered shut in acceptance and his arms tightened as he parted his lips and tilted his head back to deepen the kiss.  Tai cupped his cheek in his hand, vaguely aware of the wetness of Ken's tears, and slipped his tongue into his lover's mouth.  He ran his tongue along the edges of Ken sharp white teeth and then moved on to stroking the soft, velvety insides of Ken's cheeks.  Ken moaned deep in his throat and almost timidly slid his tongue into Taichi's mouth before retreating once more, content instead to gently suck on the tip of Taichi's tongue.

This was not a sexual kiss and they both knew it.  This kiss held something much more powerful than lust and something very subtle and indefinable _changed_ in that moment for both of them.  If they had had more time, they may have been able to discover what it was.  If they had had more time, they might have been able to change the course of their destinies.  But they did not have more time because at that exact moment the door opened and Ken's parents walked into the room. 

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Nine:**

**The Taste of a Double Bladed Sword**

**What does the snow become when it melts?**

**A flood.**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	9. The Taste of a Double Edged Sword

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

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All previous warnings and disclaimers apply.  (It gets redundant nine chapeters in.  ^_^V)

Special thank you's are extended to **Herongale** for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her and **Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, **and** PeaceKeeper A** for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

**A/N:** I'm not really happy with this chapter, so I may edit and relaunch it later.  At the moment I can't figure out how to rewrite it, so I'm releasing it as-is.  ^^;;;;  Sorry if it's not alright.

Enjoy the fic.

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true."_**

**~Nathaniel Hawthorne**

The Scarlet Letter

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Nine:**

**The Taste of a Double Edged Sword**

**------------------ & ------------------**

Ken sat stiffly on the couch and stared down at his knuckles.  They were white.  His fingers dug into the palms of his hands and he could feel moisture there where he was bleeding.  His left cheek ached where his father had backhanded him and he tasted blood in his mouth.  The flesh felt as though it had been burnt and he knew a lovely welt had risen there.  He didn't mind though; the pain was probably the only thing that stopped him from going insane.  An intense unpleasant aching sensation had settled behind his eyes and every time he shifted he saw tiny little spots dance in front of his vision, so he had resolved to be as still as possible.

His father sat across the room from him, as far as he could get without actually being in the hallway, dark eyes boring holes into him.  His mother was off telephoning the Moriko woman and probably sobbing hysterically over the phone.  It was only her intervention that had stopped Tsuyoshi from beating their son bloody after Tai had been ordered to leave with a very terse whisper.

The boy made no attempts to speak or meet his father's gaze—he was far too involved in repeating the only thing he had been thinking ever since his door opened.  _They're going to take him away from me.  They're going to take him away from me.  They're going to take him away from me.  They're going to take him away from me._  His eyes felt too dusty to cry.

Rika drifted into the room, a slight listlessness about her movements.  It seemed that they had all reached their breaking point.  "Mori will be here shortly."

No one responded and she hovered in the anxiously doorway a moment, afraid to sit near either of the Ichijouji men.

She rubbed her hands together anxiously.  "Would anyone like some tea?"

Her gaze flickered between her son and husband, wishing desperately for one of them to move or answer her.  Ken was sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth ever so slightly and staring at his hands with an expression so cold he looked as though he was about to shatter.  Tsuyoshi was sitting in an easy chair across the room gripping the arms so hard he appeared to be attempting to tear them off. 

The woman shifted uneasily before deciding to try her luck with Ken. He didn't even look up when she came to stand next to him.  "Ken, honey . . . Would you like a cold compress for your face?" 

The boy didn't move and when Rika looked closely she could see his lips moving as if he was muttering to himself.  She winced internally when her gaze slid over to the mark running across his cheek.  It had already turned a purple-ish black color and she knew that it was only going to get worse unless it was put under ice.

"Ken . . .?  Please talk to me, baby."  She reached out to gently stroke his hair as she once had when he was younger, but he jerked away from her touch.  "Ken—?" 

"Shut up."

Rika froze and felt something inside her tremble at those cold words.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tsuyoshi stiffen, also unable to process what he had just heard his child say.  "Baby—"

Ken looked up at her.  The cold flatness of his eyes had been replaced by a sudden vacancy that seemed to swallow her whole.  His normally smooth expression might as well have turned to a black hole, choking her and leaving her mouth dry.  "Shut up," he rasped emotionlessly.

The woman felt herself get smaller and smaller as he spoke in a flat, cruel whisper.  "Why are you talking to me like you care?  Why are you talking at all?  That's all you ever do: talk, talk, talk . . . Can't you do anything else?" he turned away in disgust.  "You're all so useless."  

Rika's mouth moved silently for a moment before Tsuyoshi overrode whatever she had been attempting to say.  The man was leaning forward in the chair, almost straining forward.  His wife took one look at his face and knew that it was because he was afraid of what would happen if he left that spot.

"You apologize this instant, young man!  How dare you speak to your mother like that!"

Ken looked up at him expressionlessly for a moment, a blank glassy-eyed gaze, and a chill moved through Rika.  There was nothing inside him.  No light, no life, nothing even remotely human. She reached down to touch him impulsively, to make sure that he was really there and this foreign . . . _thing_ was truly her child.  The tips of her fingers grazed his cheek and then simply Ken _moved_.

There was an explosion—a thunderclap behind Rika's eyes and an electric burning sensation that connected with her cheek, snapped her head back, and forced her to stagger backwards, half falling until her groping hand caught on a wall.

Her son had just slapped her.  _Hard_.

She screamed before the realization even came and cringed back away from the boy, more from shock than anything else.  For a split second time seemed to stop, the very Universe itself stunned into stillness by the anticlimactic act.  Rika peered out from between her arms at her son, a sudden nausea overtaking her at the sight of his emotionless eyes.  He should be angry.  He should be breathing hard.  He should be anything but absolutely calm—

And then there was a wounded, almost animalistic scream and loud crash as months of tension exploded in one clumsy, graceless motion and Tsuyoshi leapt out of his seat.  Rika uncurled just in time to see her husband leap over the coffee table, seize her 14-year-old child by the throat, and slam him into the wall behind the couch.  Ken's head smashed into the thin plaster with a strange popping sound and it took her a minute to realize that he had actually dented the wall.  Small cracks radiated out from where his head rested in a small circular indentation like a macabre halo and the boy's face turned an angry red color.

The woman's eyes widened at the soft rasping sound the child emitted.  "Ken—"

Tsuyoshi's face was bright crimson and the veins in his neck stood out almost grotesquely.  His voice, however, was soft and calm.  "_You_," he hissed, "will never, _ever_ do anything like that again.  Do you understand me?"

Rika pushed herself off the wall and latched onto her husband's arm, tugging at him in a futile attempt to free Ken.  "Tsuyoshi, my son!  Get off!  Get off him!  You're killing my baby!"

The boy's face was slowly turning purple and his eyes rolled back in his head.  A thin trail of saliva trickled out of the corner of his mouth from between clenched teeth. Tsuyoshi didn't move.

Rika hammered at the man's broad shoulders.  "Tsu, my baby!  _Let **go** of my baby_!!"  She could feel him tremble next to her and for one terrible moment she thought that he would crush the boy's windpipe; he could.  Tsuyoshi was very strong and that strength was all the more terrible because he rarely ever used it.

A strange growling, gurgling sound emerged from Ken and Tsuyoshi shuddered violently and released his grip on the child's neck.  The boy dropped to the floor in a coughing, choking heap.  The head of the Ichijouji house pulled back, seeming to tower over the pile of human being at his feet and Rika threw her arms around him, pinning his trembling arms to his sides and crying silently into his back.

Ken slowly shifted on the floor, wincing in pain as his fingers tentatively rubbed his throat.  He chuckled deep in his chest, a raw, scraping sound.  Rika squeezed Tsuyoshi tighter as Ken's arid, raspy voice grated against their skin.  "Well . . ." he croaked darkly.  "Well, now I do know where that Ichijouji temper comes from."  The boy smirked as though daring Tsuyoshi to strike him and there was something twisted and ghoulish in the expression.  "Father."

Rika inhaled sharply and felt Tsuyoshi's chest rumble slightly as he spoke.  "You . . ." His voice cracked.  "You need help, Ken."

Ken giggled and tilted his head to the side, the sound of his hair sliding against the wall making a quiet whispering noise.  "Me?  I'm not the one slamming children into walls.  Have care, father.  Imagine what the papers would say."

"That smart mouth of yours is just going to get you deeper into trouble, young man," his father ground out.  "We are your parents—"

Ken's eyes flashed and he pushed himself upright, swaying almost drunkenly on his feet.  "My parents?"  He put a hand on the wall to steady himself.  "I'd almost forgotten."

A vein throbbed in Tsuyoshi's forehead and the sound of his teeth grinding together was painfully audible in the heavy silence.

"Why do you even bother?" the pale teen continued after a moment.  "You people were never parents to me—just people who lived here first and were too ashamed of their failure to get rid of me.  I'm not you son.  I'm your pet!  You're just my keepers and you're barely around me enough for that."  His cold eyes turned back to his mother.  "How much happier would you have been if I were never born?  Or if I really was your perfect Osamu?  Do you really think that I haven't heard what everyone says?  How often go you lay awake at night and wish for your bastard firstborn?"

Rika dug her nails into Tsuyoshi's arms.  "Ken . . ." Tears slid down her face, sliding over the pink welt rising on her cheek to drip onto the floor.  "I . . . I love you—" 

The boy's face twisted bitterly, pulling his bruised cheek and straining the enflamed skin of his neck and lower jaw.  The words failed Rika and she buried her face in Tsuyoshi's shoulder.

Ken turned to his father.  "And you . . ." he smirked unpleasantly.  "What is there to say about you, dear father?"

The man's face paled and the tension left his body so suddenly that it looked almost like he was collapsing in on himself.  "You're going away," he stated flatly.

Ken started to laugh, a cold, strident sound that neither adult had ever heard, devoid of humor and humanity.  "_You're_ sending _me_ away?"  He sounded amused.  "You . . . You?!  _You're_ sending _me_ away?!" he sputtered through his laughter.  

The grating sound rose in volume and pitch and Rika shook violently at the noise, cowering pitifully behind her husband.  It wasn't even laughter anymore—it was some strange, foreign, hiccupped shriek that tore through her like a rusty saw blade.  Tsuyoshi lunged forward, tearing his arms from his wife's raptor-strong grip, unaware of his sleeves tearing on her long nails.

"SHUT UP!!" the man roared at the boy.   But Ken staggered sideways and out of his father's grasp, still cackling horribly.  

Tsuyoshi groaned and Rika sobbed aloud and covered her ears, collapsing on the floor in an indelicate heap.  Weaving dangerously on his feet, Ken staggered out into the hall, choking on his laughter.  Tsuyoshi's entire body trembled and he didn't trust his legs to take him forward.  Rika squeezed her eyes shut.  

"Bastards," the boy hissed hatefully between his gasping laughter.  Tears slid down his cheeks.  "_Fucking bastards!!_"

He couldn't think.  He couldn't see.  He couldn't fucking _breath_.  No air . . . No . . .

His back hit the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the hallway.  No air.  He slid down to the floor, still staring at his frozen father, and vaguely aware that his skin seemed to be burning and he was hyperventilating.  He closed his eyes and leaned his swirling, aching head back against the cold wall.  _Bastards . . . I don't need you._  "I don't need you . . ."  _Oh, Taichi_ . . .  "I don't need you," he muttered.  

Was he going to pass out?  He couldn't focus.  Why was he crying?  Where _was_ he?  "Taichi."  _Bastards.  Gotta get out . . ._

Hands.  Hands on him.  Touching him.  Pulling him.  Up.  Voices.  Sobbing, yelling, demanding . . . Hot.  _Where am I?_  No air.  A woman screaming.  _Please stop._  Shaking . . . someone was shaking him.  **Hot**.  _Where am I?_  Time to leave.  _I have to leave._  Spinning.  Blurry.  Pushing him.  Distant.

Everything was so distant.

"—out of this house!!"

Nothing.

Prodding.  Falling.  _Why doesn't she stop screaming?_  Too hot for this.  **Time.  To.   Leave.  **Taichi . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Tsuyoshi stared at his son as Ken slumped back against the wall and his eyes rolled up in his head.  "I don't need you.  I don't need you," he muttered in a slurred voice.  His small body shook as though seizing.  "Don't . . ." His eyes fluttered shut and his lips opened in a small gasp, but no sound left them.

He had passed out.

For a moment, Tsuyoshi could do nothing but stare at this frail, tiny thing laying on the floor in front of him, a heavy lump in his throat.  He shook his head dumbly.  Wrong.  This was all wrong . . .

Rika's muffled shrieks and painful sobs sent chills through him.  Just like when Osamu had died.  Just like . . . _then_.  And here was his baby boy . . . his Ken . . .

_"Mama?  Mama?  Where is Oniichan?  Why are you looking for him?  We left him behind, bemember?  Is Oniichan coming home soon, Mama?"_

Tsuyoshi swallowed the lump in his throat and staggered towards his son who still lay prone against the wall.  He grabbed the boy's arms roughly and forced him to his feet, jerking him up almost violently so that blue eyes fluttered open and closed without comprehension.

"You have to get out of this house," he muttered to the mute and stunned boy.  "You cannot stay here . . . No . . ." Not another day.  

Rika's wails followed them into the hall.  He shoved Ken forward towards his room, nearly falling on top of the child when he fell to the carpet floor.  Tsuyoshi dropped to his knees beside the boy and looked down into his face, watching him until tears blinded him and he had to turn away.  "Ken."

Dark violet eyes opened slowly and then darted around to see his father beside him.  Ken sluggishly tried to push himself up and scramble backwards, but only succeeded in pushing himself back.  The bathroom door swung open and he fell onto the tile floor.  He lay on the ground and turned to stare at his father, still crouching on the hall floor like a wounded animal.  Their eyes met and in that one instant Ken felt the pure clarity of a hatred so heavy he almost cried out.  They stared at one another as Ken slowly rose and staggered out into the hall, careful to face his father.  

The man pushed himself up and reached towards his son.  "Ken—"

"I'm leaving now," he rasped out.  "I'm leaving."

The boy walked backwards out of the hall as his father slowly rose with stiff, graceless movements.  

"Ken, please!  Please!"

The boy shook his head as he backed away.  His mother's muffled sobs had faded to whimpers.

Tsuyoshi slowly walked towards him as though he were approaching a startled rabbit.  "You need help, Ken . . ."

"No."  He continued moving backwards, keeping his eyes on his father.  "No.  You need help.  All of you . . . And I'm leaving now."  He stopped when his back hit the door and slowly lowered himself to the ground, one hand fumbling with the lock while the other one grabbed his boots.  

Tsuyoshi's eyes flickered towards his wife, silently pleading for help, but the woman was completely gone.  The door opened with a loud click.  Tsuyoshi tensed and halted, preparing the tackle the boy.  Ken took a step forward to pull it open, Tsuyoshi moved forwards, and suddenly the door flew open, knocking Ken to the ground.  The last thing Tsuyoshi saw was the stunned face of Doctor Hanamura Moriko as he tackled the woman, knocking her to the ground.  

There was a flash of gray, someone cried out, and something hit him in the eye.  The man yelled in frustration as he attempted to disentangle himself from the doctor.  He succeeded in doing so just in time to see his son dart down the hall to the stairwell.

"No!"  He pushed himself to his feet and ran out the door, knowing that there was no way he could ever catch Ken on foot, but also knowing that he had to try.  "Ken, stop!!"

He ran down the stairs, his legs shaking so badly that he almost fell several times and watched the lithe boy leap over the railings several times to gain distance.  The slower Tsuyoshi went, the faster Ken seemed to go.  By the time Tsuyoshi reached the ground floor and ran through the classy glass doors of the front of the building Ken was long gone and all he could do was fall to his knees and stare blankly out into the rain.

**------------- & -------------**

**_"Today in the weather—"_**

****

**_"Do you need to shed those extra winter pounds?!—"_**

****

**_"The National Diet has decided—"_**

****

**_"Drink Vita-Soy—"_**

****

**_"According to the Prime Minister, this year's Golden Week ceremonies—"_**

****

**_"Hoto Nu-oo~darou!  New!  Hoto Nooda—"_**__

Taichi lay sprawled on the couch frowning at the television, his wrist rhythmically jerking up and down as he flipped mindlessly through the channels.  The loud, overly-genki voices sounded distant and far away and he had not bothered to turn on the lights when he'd stumbled into his empty apartment.  The teen's thumb was already sore from pounding on the small rubber keys for the past half hour, but he didn't stop; indeed, he didn't even seem to be aware of what he was doing.  Wet hair created a heavily soaked spot on the arm of the chair beneath his head and his normally bright eyes were dull and glazed over.

That had been . . . unexpected.

And very much unwelcome.

**_"Heavy rains are expected to continue while temperatures remain a steady 1 to 5 degrees.  A low pressure—"_**

Tai wondered what had happened after he'd left.  His shoes hadn't been laced as he walked back to the subway.  He wondered where Ken was, how he was doing, whether or not his sea-shimmer eyes were wide and whether or not the once-Emperor was shaking occasionally like he usually did when he was upset . . . It was raining heavily.  What had the boy's parents said?  Would they stop Ken from seeing him?

Taichi's frown darkened.

**_"Do you know where your children are right n—"_**

Would they take him from him?_  Could_ they take Ken from him?  

**_"What does the snow become when it melts?"_**

The remote slid out of his hand and thumped to the floor dully.  No.

_No._

This did _not_ end this way—not when he was so close!  No!  He decided when the game ended, not Ken, and _certainly_ not his parents!  This was his game, no one else's!

**_"What does the snow become when it melts?"_**

A tanned fist clenched.  His game, his decision.  His Ken.  _His_.  All his.

**_"It becomes spring."_**

The phone rang.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  The nameless anime on television continued to babble and throw its bright, multicolored shifting light on the motionless young man spread out on the couch.

He supposed he should get the phone.  His mother was out of town for the week and Hikari was sleeping over at Miyako's house.  They could be calling for something important.  Hikari-chan could have forgot her migraine pills or his mother could want to be sure he remembered to heat up the spinach and liver pizza she froze for him.  He really should get up . . . But instead the answering machine beeped and his mother's blissfully perky voice overlapped that of the large-eyed girl on TV.

_"Moshi moshi.  This is the Yagami resident.  We're not here, so please leave us a message after the chime!  __Bai-bai!"_

_"Tai-kun?_"

Taichi groaned and rubbed his face in irritation.  "Go _away_, Yama!"

_"Yagami, I know you're there, so pick up the phone.  . . . Pick _upthe damn phone_, Taichi!!!  Look, I've talked to Takeru and 'Kari and they're worried about you.  We all are!"_

The brunet scowled as his ears picked up on the background noise of traffic and rain.  Was that idiot on his cell phone?

_"Do you even know that you've blown Daisuke off three times in the past week?  You promised him you'd practice with him!  You look like you haven't been sleeping or eating and yesterday Sora says that you nearly ripped her head off when she said that you were spending too much time with Ichijouji!"_

The teenager ground his teeth._  Shut up, Ishida, just shut up.  You'd better not be coming over here.  You'd better not want to start something right now . . .  _

Oblivious to the other's murderous mood, Yamato's tinny voice continued piping out of the small answering machine speaker._  "Now I've been more than patient with you, Tai, but if you don't start talking to someone I'm going to tell the others.  I mean it, Yagami, if you don't—"_

The machine mercifully hung up on him and Tai heaved a heavy sigh of relief.  "Thank—"

And then the doorbell rang.

"Ahhh!" With a snarl of rage, the teen stood and stomped over to the door, scowling darkly.  "Goddamnit!"  He jerked the door open.  "If it's you, Yamato, I swear to God, I—"

He stopped abruptly as he found himself staring down into Ken's enormous violet eyes.  The younger teen's face was flushed and his pupils were unnaturally dilated.  A large bruise streaked across his right cheek and an angry dark ring encircled his upper neck and the soft flesh of his lower jaw where it looked as though he had been choked.  He was panting. 

Tai shivered in the cold and swallowed hard.  "Ken, what are you—"

"Taichi—I—" Tears slid down the soaked boy's cheeks and he fidgeted and averted his eyes.  "I—Taichi . . . I . . . My parents . . . We had a fight."  Ken started to fall apart then, tremors shaking his body and tears leaving pale streaks on his reddened face.  "Can I . . . can I stay here tonight, Taichi . . . please . . .?"

Tai stared at the disheveled boy in front of him and something at the very core of him seemed to tighten and twist painfully.  Neither of them moved for a moment and Ken's face twisted as though he was afraid that Tai would turn him away.  

Taichi opened his arms and pulled Ken close to him, rocking the smaller boy in his arms as though he were a child.  "Shhhh . . ." He lifted the dark-haired boy up in his arms and carried him into the apartment.  "It's okay, Ken.  It's okay.  I'm here."

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Ten:**

**And From His Lips He Drew The Hallelujah**

**A new hymn of praise is written with the help of a liberal use of vodka and handcuffs are all the rage.   "There is no light inside the void."**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	10. And From His Lips He Drew the Hallelujah

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst. Due to FF.net's restriction, the lemon has been removed.  **Links to the full chapter can be found through my profile** on Slashfanfiction.com and AdultFanFiction.net.  

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_"[M]en change masters willingly, hoping to better themselves; _**

**_and this belief makes them take arms against their rulers, in which they are deceived,_**

**_ as experience later proves that they have gone from bad to worse."_**

**~Machiavelli**

The Prince

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Ten:**

**And From His Lips He Drew the Hallelujah**

**------------------ & ------------------**

After Ken had practically collapsed in Taichi's arms, the older boy had carried him into the apartment, helped him undress, and waited patiently as he washed up.  He had needed help to climb into the bathtub, and as he sat on the bath stool shivering and covered with only a towel, Tai drained the old water out of the bath beforehand to be sure it was good and hot.  After dressing in only a large button up shirt and pair of boxer shorts that hung dangerously loose at the waist, he fell asleep in Taichi's arms in the living room while they watched the news, trembling the whole time.  The older teen carried him into his parents' bedroom and laid him down.  Then Tai settled down in a chair next to the window and across from the bed with a purloined bottle of clear Absolut Vodka and a shot glass that said "Firewater" at his side.  An hour and two and half shots later, he still couldn't tear his eyes from Ichijouji.  

The boy looked small and washed out as he lay asleep in the large bed.  Tai sat in a chair across the room and let his gaze devour Ken.  Beautiful . . . That was the only word for him.  He was simply beautiful. 

The vodka burned his throat as he swallowed hard.  Tai's eyes narrowed, but remained on his guest.  He shouldn't be thinking like this . . . _feeling_ this.  This was not some helpless man-childe laying on his bed like Snow White waiting for Prince Charming.  This was the former Digimon Kaiser.  This was . . .

A lie.

_"You're a lie, aren't you, Ken-chan?  My Ken-chan . . ."_

_"Don't call me that, Yagami.  Stop it.  Let me go."_

_"You.  Are.  A.  Lie.  And I can see right through you."_

But this was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it?  Ken wanted him now.  He needed and trusted Tai.  All that the teen had to do now was take him.  The youth was vulnerable, pale, alone, and desperate.  It wouldn't take much to fill that void.  It would take even less to rip it wide open again.  He poured another shot of Vodka and threw it down, wincing at the taste.  How Westerners drank so much of this stuff was beyond him.

Tai closed his eyes and dropped his head in his hands.  The memory of those liquid violet eyes seared into him . . . It was a physical pain.  He could still feel Ken trembling in his arms, smell his juniper shampoo, taste the salt-water taste of his skin.  The Child of Courage groaned.  His entire body ached to hold Ken, to feel him complete all the curves and planes of his body as they entwined with one another.  Without Ken in his arms he felt loose and empty.  And that scared him.

He didn't love him.  He knew that.  Taichi was nowhere close to loving Ken.  But _needing him . . . Well, that was a whole other story._

Ken groaned faintly and rolled over onto his left side so that he was facing Taichi and his hair fell into his face.  The faint light streaming through the window threw bars of faint silver across his delicate features.  Tai felt himself stir at the sight and stood, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.  Ken looked so very tiny and helpless—so innocent and young.  So pure.  Tai licked his lips and quietly made his way over to the slim form curled up in the bed, removing his clothing along the way.

Enough hesitation.  He had waited long enough—far too long in his opinion.  The rest he'd deal with tomorrow.  

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Due to the restrictions imposed by FF.net, the lemon in this chapter has been deleted.  If you wish to read the whole chapter, go to my profile.  There you will find links to my main profile and AdultFanfiction.net—the rest of ten is there.  ~ Vain**

**------------------ & ------------------**

For several moments the two lay still, their heavy, panting breath the only sound in the room.

Tai groaned as he pulled out of his lover.

"Taichi . . ." Ken moved his head feebly and gave a final pitiful jerk at the handcuffs with the sudden loss of sensation.  

The other boy staggered slightly as he rose to his feet.  "Hush, Ken."  He sounded tired.

The younger teen lay still and quiet as Taichi vanished from his line of sight.  Violet eyes lidded heavily.  He had been trying to say something—something important.  A minute later Taichi returned with a damp washcloth and gently wiped the boy off.  He avoided Ken's eyes.

The handcuffs were released with metallic clicking noises and the brunet settled in being the smaller boy with a slight groan, tanned arms winding themselves around a pale, narrow waist.  Ken pushed himself back into his lover's arms.  His wrists and anus burned fiercely, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Taichi?"  He had remembered what he wanted to say.

"Go to sleep, Ken."  Tai buried his face into Ken's long, silky hair.  "We'll talk in the morning."

Ken wrapped his arms around the other boy's and closed his eyes.  "I love you.  I just wanted you to know that, that's all."

Tai squeezed him tightly and the boy smiled.  He allowed his body to relax in the other's embrace, aching, tired, sore, and abused, but happy for the first time in what seemed like forever.  They were asleep almost immediately.

**------------- & -------------**

Tai opened his eyes and blinked blearily in the gray predawn light.  His limbs were comfortably tangled up with those of a firm masculine body and he felt . . . warm . . . Warm, tired, and extremely, extremely pleasant.  The only things that came to mind were memories of handcuffs, sweet pleas, and some rather incredible sex.  He sighed, running his hands happily over the smooth back of whomever he had had the delight of sleeping with last night and pulled him closer, burying his chin in a mop of indigo hair and inhaling the scent of juniper and—

Taichi's eyes snapped open again and he stiffened.  _Indigo_ hair?

The wild haired teen slowly pulled away and stared down at the boy curled up against him.  Ken's eyes were shut and he was obviously tired, but a small smile played at the edges of his mouth and he looked so relaxed and . . . _happy_.  He looked so innocent . . .

Tai closed his eyes and felt his head drop down, burying his face in Ken's hair.  Small tremors ran through his limbs.  He thought of the Digital World.  He thought of Agumon.  He thought of Ken's synthetic smirks and Daisuke's tears.  He thought of anything but the rose-petal texture of Ken's skin as he absently ran his hands over the slim body beside him.

Anything but Ken's whispered words and that strange smile that was given only to him.

And he waited for Ken to wake up.

**------------------ & ------------------ **

**Chapter Eleven:**

**The Whip of Scorpions**

**The shit hits the fan.**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	11. The Whip of Scorpions

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, and general angst.

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_"Art thou that traitor angel?  _**

**_Art thou he, who first broke peace in Heav'n and faith, till then unbroken, _**

**_and in proud rebellious arms drew after him the third part of Heav'n's sons, _**

**_conjured against the Highest, for which both thou and they, outcast from God, _**

**_are here condemned to waste eternal days in Woe and pain?  _**

**_And reckon'st thou thyself with Spirits of Heav'n, Hell-doomed, _**

**_and breath'st here defiance and scorn where I reign king, _**

**_and to enrage thee more, _thy_ king and lord?  _**

**_Back to thy punishment, false fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, _**

**_lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue ling'ring,_**

**_ or  with one stroke of this dart strange horrors seize thee, and pangs unfelt before."_**

**~John Milton**

Paradise Lost

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Eleven:**

**The Whip of Scorpions**

**------------------ & ------------------**

He woke up slowly, with a laziness that fame and stress had rendered him unaccustomed to.  His face was pressed into an unfamiliar mattress with a familiar scent and faint tones of fuzzy gray bled through his closed eyes.  He was alone.  

Ken burrowed under the covers with a quiet groan in an effort to escape the light, not knowing where he was, but too content and comfortable to really care.  His body ached.  His neck and wrists felt stiff and tender and part of his face throbbed dully.  Parts of his shoulders and back hurt and there was a strange, dull, invasive ache in his backside and deep through his lower body that was getting more and more difficult to ignore.  Despite this though, he felt oddly at peace—more so than he could remember feeling since he had been a small child.  Since before Oniisan died.

A slim arm slid across the empty bed in search of something important that he couldn't quite seem to recall and large blue eyes fluttered open uncertainly.  "Taichi?"  His voice sounded unusually thick and muddled and his head felt odd, as though it had been packed with old straw.

"Taichi?"

The boy sat up, allowing the covers to slide down and pool at his waist, unconscious of his nudity.  The sudden pressure on his lower body sent small flashes of pain through him, clearing away the last of the sleep and making him grunt quietly.  "Tai . . .?"

After pulling the covers off and gingerly slipping out of bed, Ken winced slightly as he stretched his damaged body.  The skin seemed to be pulled too tightly in certain places and he was terribly dizzy.  It felt as though his flesh were going to rupture from the simple act of standing.  He covered his eyes with his hand and sat back down on the mattress.  The room spun sickeningly.  

His parents.  They had fought.  They were going to get rid of him.  So he had come to Taichi's apartment.  And they'd had sex.  And Ken loved him.  

The former Kaiser swallowed heavily when his stomach churned violently and bile crawled up his esophagus.  He needed to lie down.  

Where was Taichi?

As though on cue, the door suddenly opened and Ken looked up to see his lover enter the room carrying a small pile of clothes.  The younger boy smiled slightly, the mere sight of the brunet already making him feel a bit better, and opened his mouth to say good morning.  They'd lie back down and talk and figure out what to do and Taichi would smile and tell him it was okay.  Maybe he could prosecute his parents . . . They'd figure something out.  He could take care of himself.

"Good—"

He didn't have time to duck as the bundle of clothes in Taichi's hands was suddenly launched across the room and hit him square in the face.  Hard.  The world spun dizzily for a moment and Ken fell back slightly onto his elbows, a fresh wave of nausea hitting him.  He scowled slightly at the playful behavior and pushed himself up again, half expecting to see Taichi laughing at him.  The frown melted away when he saw the expression on Taichi's face.

The brunet was not laughing.  He was not smiling.  He was standing in the doorway wearing only a baggy pair of jeans that hung low on his hips, black boxers peaking out over the top.  His arms were crossed over his tanned chest and his wide, laughing mouth was drawn into a dark, thin, expressionless line.  The older teen's face, normally open and happy, was blank and emotionless, almost scornful.  His eyes were slightly bloodshot and glittered too brightly.  They had a glassy, out of focus appearance about them.  Ken shied back slightly as his sensitive nose picked up on a barely detectable whiff of alcohol.  Taichi wasn't drunk, but he wasn't sober either.

The younger teen felt something like fear bloom in him and ruthlessly crushed it down.  "Taichi?  Are you alr—"

"Get dressed."

Ken blinked in confusion and his eyes narrowed slightly.  

"Get dressed," Taichi repeated when he didn't move.  "I'm done with you."  His voice was cold and emotionless.

"Tai—"

_I'm done with you._

Blue eyes darkened faintly in repressed fear.  "What do you mean?"  Confusion and a sick sense of horror replaced his earlier contentment and made his already aching head pound terribly.  He closed his eyes and lowered his head.  _Nonononononononononononononononono . . ._ "Done with me?"

_I'm important to him.  Right?_

A dark chuckle emerged from Tai's lips and some part of Ken began to gibber insanely within him. _nononononononononononononononononononononononononono—_

"Yeah," the brunet replied, sounding amused.  Ken's insides twisted horribly.  

_This is all some horrid joke._  He couldn't move.

Taichi continued talking obliviously.  "What?  You didn't really think I actually loved you or anything, did you?"  A dark eyebrow lifted and he grinned an uncomfortably familiar grin.  

_nononononononononononononononononononono—_

_Shut up, Taichi.  Please shut up._

This wasn't happening.

"I mean, you were a great fuck, but I'm pretty much done with you now."  He shrugged.  "Get out."

_nonononononononononononono— _ ". . . But . . ."  _Don't talk!_

Ken's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

Taichi stared down at him for several moments before starting to laugh.

Small hands balled into fists around his shirt and tears blurred his vision.  He didn't dare look up.  His head felt as though it was going to burst open.  _Shut up._

"But what?"  The younger boy did not have to look up to see the condescending amusement on his boyfriend's face—he could hear it in his voice.  

"Now Ken, don't be difficult.  We had a good run."  He chuckled softly.  "You should have heard yourself," Taichi chortled.  "Begging me like a bitch in heat!"  He continued laughing.  "You're such a slut.  Easy."

". . . But . . ." _Don't say it._

"But what!?" Taichi almost screamed, amusement evaporating with terribly rapidity.  "You are nothing!  Worthless!  Even your own parents can't stand you!  Do you honestly think that I—that _anyone_—gives a damn about you?  You're pathetic and broke down.  I don't even know why you try."

_Shut up._

"No one cares!"

_Shut up._

"You could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter."

_Shut up, Yagami._

"I just wanted to win the bet I made with Yama-chan, that's all."

_Shut up!_

"You were better than I thought you'd be, though.  Maybe he'd like a turn with you, too."

"Shut up."

Ken's head dropped even lower so that he was almost bent double on the bed and he clenched his eyes shut and squeezed his fists closed until he thought that the bones might tear free of the skin.  _Just shut up._  A tear fell unnoticed by either of them onto the gray fabric of his jacket.

There was a loud popping noise and for just a moment Ken thought that he'd exploded and it was over, small bits of blood and gore flying everywhere, until he realized that it was just his knuckles popping.  He felt quiet and numb with the realization as though something within him really had exploded.  He felt ill—like he wasn't there at all.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as Ken stiffly pulled on his clothes.  It was over.  It was all over.  He did up the buttons on his school jacket mechanically; only habit ensured that each button went to its proper hole.  His shoes were in the hall.  He had no coat.

Outside, the rain fell in a steady staccato beat.

The indigo-haired boy stood woodenly and walked to the door.  Taichi watched him with a small, satisfied smile.  As Ken brushed past him to leave, the older boy suddenly reached out and grabbed a handful of long, silky hair, jerking him back, needing to hear him cry out.  There was no reaction and he yanked the boy backwards into his arms and turned him around.  Ken collapsed against him limply.  He used his grip to tilt the unresponsive boy's head back and snaked an arm around Ken's waist, pressing their bodies tightly together.  He crushed their mouths together, yanking his hair painfully.

Ken hung against him, inanimate as a rag doll, and Taichi bit down on the former Kaiser's lower lip until blood poured into their mouths and slipped down from the corners of Ken's limp lips to stain his chin.  Tai drank the hot spice in greedily, tearing at the small cut with sharp teeth, desperate for the child in his embrace to scream and struggle and cry out—desperate to drink him in completely and leave him drained and empty.

Ken remained motionless.

Taichi pulled away with an angry growl and crushed the boy against him until it should have been impossible for him to breath.  Until he should have been crushed.  Ken's head lolled back limply.

Brown eyes narrowed and the hand in his hair jerked his head back up by those violet strands once more.  With a quiet groan, the teen bent his head to slowly lick the blood from Ken's lips, chin, and throat.  When he'd finished, he violently tossed the boy to the floor and sneered, the fingers of his left hand still absently clenching and unclenching around the long strands of hair that clung to them.

Taichi leaned against the wall and panted slightly, eyes still locked on the boy at his feet.  "Get out.  Get the fuck out of here."

And so Ken stood and left.

**------------- & -------------**

Tanuki Minokuchi had never been the type of person given to brooding or regrets.  That was Ken's arena and, as far as the white-haired soccer player was concerned, Ichijouji was more than skilled enough at it for two people.  Or twelve.  

He sprawled on the couch and frowned at the television before changing the channel.  Ooooh Pokémon!  . . . On a cold day in hell, perhaps.  He changed the channel again, lamenting the lack of CNN and BBC.

All this mindless anime shit.  Rotted the brain.  Although it certainly explained all those morons in Odaiba.  

The boy scowled.

"Well where is it then?"

"How should I know?!"

A door slammed.  "Of course you don't!  You don't know anything, do you?"

Tanuki took a sip of soda.  Still, in retrospect, he was pretty sure he'd kill for a bag of barbeque Fridoes about now.  Or a Pop-tart.  Or one of those toasty strudel things.  That would be great right about now.

"Then where did you have it last?"

"If I knew that the it wouldn't be lost, now would it?"

Or a hot dog from The O.  And one of those paper bowls of greasy French fries in imitation nacho cheese.  

"Can't you do anything right?!"

The remote bobbed in his hand as he changed the channel.

Another door slammed down the hall and woman shrieked.  "Let go of me!  I told you I didn't know where they were!"

"And I told _you_—" A third door slam, cutting off his father's voice.

The television turned off with a dull pop.  The teenager lay frozen on the couch for a moment, listening to his parents' muffled argument.  They argued a lot more often these days.  His mother wanted to leave Japan.  She said that it was a "bad place" for her "baby."  Tanuki sneered at the ceiling.  He personally didn't give a damn about Japan.  The whole country could be swallowed by the Pacific for all her cared.

But now he had . . . obligations here.  Ken.  

And he would see that through to the end.  It was, after all, what was expected of him.

He sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position, a dark frown marring his usually mischievous expression.  His fingers itched to pick up the phone and call Ken—if only to be sure that nothing had happened yesterday.  Something about Yagami Taichi simply set his teeth on edge.  But then Ken would get all pissy and ignore him for a few days to show his distain at being "meddled" with.  

Still scowling Tanuki stood and stretched unhappily.  He bit his lower lip absently and stared at the television, only half aware that the argument had now migrated to the hallway.  

"I told you, Matrim, I don't know _where_ I put the ring!"

"It's a sixty thousand dollar ring!  How the hell could you possibly lose a sixty thousand ring?"

The Yagami situation would have to be rectified, though.  No matter how Ken felt about meddling.  Tanuki was well aware that Ken was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  He was also aware that—for reason Tanuki neither knew, nor could honestly say that he cared about—Ken had a rather prolific history of _not_ taking himself.  And that suited Tanuki just fine; it gave him an actual function in Ken's life, as well as a function in his own.  A function that this upstart Yagami threatened.  Such a disruptive influence would _not_ be tolerated.

"I didn't lose it.  I just don't know where it is!"

Tanuki's father entered the room, glaring down at his wrists as he did up his cufflinks.  A tall man with platinum blond hair and gray eyes, he looked old before his time.  "And you call that what?  Putting it in safekeeping?"

Tanuki's mother flowed in behind him.  It was obvious where her son got his looks.  "No.  I call that not knowing where it is," she snapped at her husband.   

Their son frowned slightly in their direction.  "I'm going out now."

Matrim waved a hand dismissively while still trying to fasten on the cufflink.  Tanuki breezed past him into the hallway that led to the door to put on his shoes.  His father's voice followed him as the argument continued.

"Not knowing where it is?  That qualifies as _lost_, Ran."

"No.  Lost means that you never get it back."

"Then where is it?  If you can get it back, then by all means do so!"

Tanuki pulled on his boots.  Yagami.  He did up the laces.  Well, no matter; Yagami would have to be dealt with.  He'd make it up to Ken in some way or another.  Nothing was irreplaceable.  

"I can't get it!  I already told you I don't know where it is!"

"Then it is LOST!"

Tanuki did not say goodbye to parents as he left.  They would not have heard him anyway. 

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Twelve:**

**The Captives at Philippi**

**When it rains . . . it pours.**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	12. The Captives at Phillippi

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, and general angst.  

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

**_"But she did marry me!  _**

**_Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, she married me!  _**

**_For she had no one to turn to!  _**

**_Do you understand, young man, what it means to have nowhere left to turn to?"_**

**~Feodor Dostoevsky**

Crime and Punishment

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Twelve:**

**The Captives at Philippi**

**------------------ & ------------------**

It was still raining when Ken left Taichi's apartment.  He didn't scream or cry out and no tears tracked their way down his cheeks.  He hadn't said anything to Taichi at all.  He could feel the other teen's eyes moving over his body as he stiffly put on his boots, but he couldn't do anything.  He couldn't _feel_ anything.  So he merely pulled his now-clean clothes back on and walked out the door and into the deluge again.

And he walked.  He walked for hours without direction or purpose, barely aware of the cold and the wind and the rain.  The streets were almost empty and those who passed him quickly averted their eyes from his damaged face and slight limp.  It was a shameful thing to see him staggering listlessly down the street, an indignity to the city and its inhabitants that was acutely felt by the others around him.  They were too embarrassed to look at his face.  Not that it would have mattered; Ken stared at the ground as he walked.

His entire body hurt.  His skin was stretched too tightly over his bones and the old bruises left by his father's rage and the new ones left by Taichi's passion each felt like a brand, marking him as property.  Property.  An object.  He shook, tiny tremors traveling up his hands and forcing his shoulders to jerk ever so slightly as his body tried to shake itself warm.  It felt like his mind was going to shake apart.

The rain beat down from the sky, washing the streets and grinding him down into himself until his head was pounding in time with the rain attacking his body.  Eventually he stumbled into an alleyway and crouched to the ground, hidden from view by a tall dumpster.  He huddled into a ball and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Mama."  His teeth chattered.  "Mama," he murmured plaintively.  

Ken leaned against the trash bin for a moment before suddenly slamming his head into the metal with numbing force.  He shuddered and repeated the action twice more.  A cough wracked his slender body, making him gasp and choke for a moment.  He shivered and closed his eyes and fell asleep listening to the rain splashing off his head.

**------------- & -------------**

It had only been a day since Ken had walked out and Rika had already taken to ripping out her hair again.  When she had first gotten pregnant with Ken her personality had changed drastically and she became moody and morose and begun to pluck the hair out of her forearms and legs.  When Osamu had died the behavior started once more, but vanished once she turned her attentions to Ken.   With Ken's first disappearance, she had actually started ripping out chunks of her hair and compulsively plucking her pubic hair and eyebrows.  Now it was all happening again.  Within the space of twenty-four hours.

Tsuyoshi was frightened. 

The woman tugged at her hair, a dead light gleaming in the back of her eyes as she paced the length of the hall and living room.  "Where is my son, Tsuyoshi?!  Where is he!?"

Her husband swallowed hard.  He knew better than to try to approach her; she could be violent when she was like this and while she was significantly smaller than he was, the very idea of touching his wife in anger horrified him.

"Rika-chan—"

She stopped suddenly and whirled around to face him and began to wring her hands.  "This is your fault," she whimpered, blinking rapidly as tears slid down her cheeks.  "You didn't love him enough.  Nothing was ever enough for you.  You hate him.  You hate him!"

Tsuyoshi stiffened and felt his face pale.  He wanted to snap at her, shout out an accusation.  He turned and walked into the kitchen instead.  Rika and Osamu had both been prone to outbursts of incredible passion that belied their normally composed exteriors.  That was something that he had forgotten and had never dealt with well.

As his wife continued to mumble and rant in the other room, he set about making tea, pausing only to go to the bathroom and retrieve something from the medical cabinet.  Meprobamate.  It was an anti-anxiety drug that Hanamura had given Rika after Osamu died, but it also acted as a heavy sedative.  Some nights it had been the only thing that could get her to sleep.  The way she had wandered around the apartment looking for their dead son had broken his heart.  Ken used to trail behind her and tug at the hem of her skirt.  

His childish voice had been piercing and eerie in the sudden silence of their grief.  _"Mama?  Mama?  Where is Oniichan?  Why are you looking for him?  We left him behind, bemember?  Is Oniichan coming home soon, Mama?"_

It had been a disturbing sight.

He dropped two pills in the steaming water and returned to the living room, stirring the tea until they dissolved.

Rika was still pacing and wringing her hands.  Her knuckles were bright red and tears made the smooth skin of her face look worn and aged.  He handed her the cup gingerly.

"It will make you feel better," he coaxed when she frown at the brown liquid.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the cup, making the tea slosh dangerously near the lip of the teacup.  "You didn't love him enough," she repeated piteously.  "Never enough.  And he knew it."

Tsuyoshi looked away.

The woman stared blankly into the mug for a moment before taking a tentative sip.  It was hot and burned her tongue, but it was also soothing.  She turned, holding the tea close to her chest, and wandered into the kitchen.  "Your fault."

He wondered vaguely who she was talking to.  

After several minutes of listening to his wife putter around in the kitchen and mutter beneath her breath, Tsu stood and head back into the hall towards his son's bedroom.  He hesitated in front of it for a long moment, remembering a time when this had been Osamu's room and he had stood once before in front of this door, drowning in the silence of the room beyond.  
  
_"You didn't love him enough."_

The man leaned forward suddenly, resting his weight completely against the door and pressing his forehead against the unyielding wood.  He loved his son.

"I love my son."

And it was true.  He had never said those words in regard to Ken.  They had never left his lips before this moment—not in any real meaningful way.  Not without some impetus or expectation of reward.  But it was true.  And he wanted his boy back so badly that he ached with the need of it.

He snorted derisively, but it came out as a choked sob-like sound that startled him.  What a terrible parent he had been—to have loved his child so much and never told him.  He stood and pushed open the door.  Ken had never had the chance to lock it behind him when he'd burst in on him and that other boy.

And now that he considered it, perhaps that other boy hadn't been so bad.  He had made Ken happy, hadn't he?  Ken was not the type of person to give of himself freely.  Tsuyoshi may not have known much about his child, but he knew that much at least.  When was the last time he had seen Ken happy?  When was the last time anyone in this house had been happy?

The sterility of the room seemed to answer the question.  No posters, no pictures, nothing _concrete_ to indicate that anyone had ever lived there for any real period of time.  Simply . . . nothing.  Was this really how his son had lived for so long?  Was this why he'd run away?  Tsuyoshi looked around without really seeing anything.  Empty.  It was all empty.  He couldn't even remember what Ken's room had looked like before he'd moved into this one after Osamu's death.  His old room—almost a closet, really—was now Rika's sewing room.  Had there been pictures?  Color?  _Life_ . . .?

What had happened?  And why couldn't he remember?  Was he truly so far from his only child?

He heard Rika shuffling down the hall.  The door to their bedroom creaked open and then closed once more with a dull click.  

Where was his son?

_Where is my **son**?_

The silence was painful and the man averted his eyes suddenly, unable to bear the lack of . . . of . . . everything.

_Where is my son?_

He didn't remember slamming Ken's door.  Perhaps the room, much like its occupant, knew of his intrusion into that private place and was repelling his efforts as too little far, far, far too late.

_Where has he gone?_

For a moment he remained in front of the closed door, staring at it in helpless bewilderment.

_My son.  Is he safe?_

How had this happened?

_Is he hurt?_

Things like this weren't supposed to happen.  Tsuyoshi had done everything right.  He'd married a pretty girl.  He'd gotten a good job.  He made a decent wage.  He was good at his work, respected by his peers, an asset to his bosses, loved by his wife and sons.  And sons.  And son.  

Loved by his wife and . . . and whom?

Osamu?  Osamu was dead.

Ken?  

The man jerked away from the door suddenly, looking as though he'd been burnt.  

"Where is my son?"  The words were loud in the deepening silence and he jumped.  The wind was howling out there, beating down on Tokyo, screaming across Japan.  And he didn't know where his child was.

He hadn't done anything right at all.

Mechanical steps took him away from Ken's door and back to the kitchen.  Rika' empty mug sat on the table.  She was probably asleep by now.  The man stared at the faux-porcelain for a long moment, as though it held some greater meaning or some hint of absolution.

He loved his son.

He truly did.  And what did he have to show for it now?

Tired brown eyes flickered to the phone and for just an he thought he saw Ken standing there, leaning against the wall and winding the phone cord between his delicate fingers in boredom.  He'd be talking to Tanuki-kun, of course; he didn't have the patience for anyone else.  Tsuyoshi blinked rapidly, willing the mocking phantom to vanish.  When he focused on the phone again, all he saw was plastic shining dully in the florescent light.  Tsuyoshi reached out to touch it and was startled by the cool reality of the receiver in his hand.  His large fingers pressed the buttons with an odd, uncommon clumsiness, as though the appliance had somehow gotten smaller, or he had grown larger.  He brought the receiver up to his ear and listened to the other line ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

_"Moshi moshi."_

For an instant, Tsuyoshi's voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, then the words lurched out of his mouth artlessly.  "Anou . . . Moshi moshi.  This is Ichijouji.  Is Tanuki-kun home?"

_"No, Ichijouji-san, he left some time this morning.  Is something wrong?"_

Tsuyoshi closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.  Tanuki had been his only chance.  "No.  No.  I don't suppose you've seen Ken?"

_"No, Ichijouji-san."_

"Well, thank you.  If he shows up can you tell him . . . Can you tell him that I'm sorry and we want him to come home as soon as he can?"

There was a pause on the other side and Tsu shifted uncomfortably.  He could still hear the rain howling outside.  "And tell him that we miss him and we love him very much?"

_"I . . . Yes, Ichijouji-san."_

"Thank you."

He hung up the phone and returned to the bedroom.  Rika's breathing was deep and even and for a moment the tall man stood in the doorway and listened to the sound.  He pretended that it was Ken's breathing and that nothing was wrong.  He pretended for so long that the fantasy was painful.  When he opened his eyes and found himself in the doorway of his darkened bedroom, Tsuyoshi hesitated for a brief instant before closing the door and walking over to the bed.  He lay down on top of the covers and pulled his wife close to him.  She snuggled into his warm embrace and he relaxed, allowing his body to melt into hers.

The bed creaked as Rika shifted slightly and she pressed face into the crook of his neck, murmuring a slurred, half-asleep "I love you," into his skin.  It was only then that Tsuyoshi let the tears slide down his cheeks and he kissed her forehead tenderly, an act of intense love that few in his world would ever witness.

**------------- & -------------**

He didn't know how long he slept.  It could have been a year, it could have been an hour; time seemed to merge with the gray of the sky and the buildings and his clothing and his skin.  As he crept out of his alleyway, Ken was barely aware of the shrieking protests in his stiff muscles.  The ache in his body had become a bearable thing that he noted with bland disinterest, but dismissed as unimportant.  Everything was unimportant.

His feet began to ache and the bones of his hands strained against the ivory leather of his skin, turning the appendages into skeletal, bird-like claws.  He suppressed an urge to claw at his eyes.

_Blind, blind, blind._  He couldn't see anything at all.

At some point in time he crossed a bridge, but he didn't know which one.  Perhaps he'd crossed it more than once.  It was difficult to focus on such matters.  Besides, the world was monochrome and disinteresting and all the bridges looked the same: swaying, dark, narrow, and gray as the air.  He paused halfway across and leaned dangerously far over the railing, staring down into the moving metal of the water below.  For a wild moment he wondered if he'd fall, had fallen, and perhaps he was still dreaming.  It didn't matter, though; things, he felt on a vague abstract level, were more honest in dreams.  And the rain was heavy, thick, and cold and cut him to the core.  He wished he could see the blood.  He had to be bleeding all over the place.

People seemed to have vanished as Ken entered a residential area he was vaguely familiar with.  The name of the place and its importance was a liquid thing to him and his mind was tender and scrambled.  His rest had not been peaceful and he been plagued by faceless gray dwarves who threw pebbles at him that turned into roaches and tried to burrow beneath his skin with grasping skeletal hands that were so cold they burned him like fire.

The rain continued without pause as he staggered down the street with wooden, marionette-like motions, and he had dropped his head so low that he was almost bent double giving the impression that he was on the verge of falling.  The position made his back ache.

"Ken-kun . . .?"

The sound of a familiar voice made the pallid teenager lift his head slowly and blink past the rainwater that slid down his face and collected on the delicate tips of his eyelashes.  He blinked several more times until his vision cleared enough to see and even then there was still a fuzziness around the edges of his sight.  It was surreal, like an old movie flashback.  

Violet eyes blinked slowly and he tilted his head to the side.  "Tanuki."

The white-haired boy was standing a good twelve feet in front of him, the bottoms of his gray Tamachi pants wet up to the knees.  He held a large black umbrella over his head, the dark circle of it standing out sharply between the pale gray of his skin and hair and the iron gray background of the sky and buildings.  His large, round blue eyes were astonishingly wide and his lips were slightly parted, a strange look of horror on his handsome face.

Ken smiled slightly and spread his arms out, neither a plea nor a presentation, but a simple gesture of despair.  His clothes clung to him and sucked all the warmth from his body.  He chuckled faintly and raised his arms a bit higher, slowly lifting them until his fingers were long dark shadows against the clouds and his hands were stretching desperately towards the sky.  He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the rainwater to hit his face and run down the smooth contours of his skin.  

"It's raining," he murmured softly and raindrops fell into his mouth and slid down his throat.

Tanuki stared at him in horror and Ken began to slowly sway back and forth and hum.  Then he started laughing.  It was a soft, forced, unnatural sound that made the Coon's hair stand on end.

A violet shiver moved through that indigo-haired boy and his laughter choked him so that he bent doubled and coughed with a wet, hacking noise.  When he stood there was blood on his lips.  He giggled and his head lolled to the side.  "It's raining," he repeated.

A sharp gust of wind blew, ripping Tanuki's umbrella from his hand, and he still didn't move.  "Ken . . ."

Ken wrapped his arms around his waist and bent over as though he were in pain.  After a moment, a soft sob emerged from his wrecked body and Tanuki flinched.  The two stayed like that for a several long awkward moments until Ken's knees gave way and he fell to the ground.  He lay down on the sidewalk and curled into a fetal position, dry painful sobs continuing to tear themselves from somewhere deep inside him.  

The rain drowned out Tanuki's soft footfalls as he approached his fallen friend.  The white-haired boy knelt down at Ken's side and carefully gathered the other teen to his chest in a gentle embrace, allowing him to soak up his warmth and cry himself out.  He rocked him back and forth, shifting to shield him from the worst of the rain and wind.  Ken's hands gripped at the wet fabric of his jacket until the knuckles turned white.  

"Let's go home, Ken-kun."

The boy shook his head and shuddered.

"Let's go home.  I'll take you to my house.  It'll be okay there."

"I want to go to sleep, Tanuki."

"Then let's go home, Ken."

Lightening crashed and the thunder moved so loudly that they could feel it.  After a moment Ken nodded.  

"I want to go to sleep, Tanuki," he murmured in a slurred, unsteady voice.

The Coon nodded and helped his friend to his feet and they headed towards his home.

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Talking of Michelangelo**

**The hunter gets hunted, the Rat gets everything he can have (which is probably less than he's entitled to), and Little Red Riding Hood takes back what's hers.  Sort of.  Twenty points from Gryffindor.**

**------------------ & ------------------**


	13. Talking of Michelangelo

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: **Vain**  10/16/2001-

**------------------ & ------------------**

I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

**To receive updates on my stories**, please join my Yahoo!Group at: ( http: // groups. yahoo. com / group / TheBallroom / )

This story has **yoai**, **shounen-ai**, and **mature themes** including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene.****

**------------------ & ------------------ ******

****

**_"Maybe I've been here before.  I know this room, I've walked this floor;  
I used to live alone before I knew you.  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch.  Love is not a victory march—  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah . . ."  
"There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below,  
But now you never show it to me do you?  
Remember when I moved in you?  _**

**_The holy dark was moving too, _**

**_And every breath we drew was hallelujah.  
Hallelujah."_**

**_~ _Rufus Wainwright__**

**_Hallelujah_****__**

**------------- & -------------**

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Talking of Michelangelo 

**------------------ & ------------------**

He felt drunk.  He felt ill.  Lightheaded.  He felt more tired than he had ever believed possible.  And Ken-chan—his Ken-chan . . . Was gone.  And maybe he wanted him back.

Yamato arrived some time around noon.  Noon.  He'd kicked Ken out at 9.  It was still raining out there.  Was Ken out there now?  Alone?  In the rain?  Did he miss Taichi?  Would he forgive him?

No.

"Did you get my message?  Jesus Christ, Tai-kun . . . You look like shit.  What happened to you?"

_Thank you so much.  _Taichi stepped back away from the door and allowed Yama to enter.  

The blond's nose wrinkled delicately as he walked past.  "Have you been drinking, Taichi?"

For a moment the other teen simply stared at him, blinking stupidly as the words sunk in.  ". . . Just a—a . . ." He trailed off with a slur, unable to remember quite what he was going to say.  It was cold outside.  He wanted to see Ken.  

"Tai?"

A pale hand suddenly arose and cupped his face.  When had Yama moved so close?  "Tai, are you alright?  You don't look too good."

Tai stared down into blue eyes for a moment, unable to quite get his bearings.  "I . . . haven't had too much to drink . . ."  And he really hadn't, had he?  He had only had a couple more shots since Ken had left.  Right?

Ken.  . . . It looked so cold outside.

And suddenly he couldn't quite seem to stand anymore.

"Tai?"

Strong arms around him, holding him up.  The room was spinning.

"Taichi?!  Taichi, can you hear me?!"

Ken hated being cold.  And he was so small . . .

"Taichi?!  Hold on; I'm going to lay you down, okay?  Tai?"

"Yama . . ." His voice was soft and heavily slurred.  Concerned blue eyes suddenly appeared before him.  Where was Ken?  His Ken.  "Yama . . . I think I've done something terrible . . ." And then he slid away into blissful oblivion.__

**------------- & -------------**

Tanuki set the bowls on the bar that divided the kitchen from the dining room and sat down across from Ken.  A large puddle of water was rapidly forming on the tiles below the other boy's stool as the rainwater dripped off of him, but Ken did not appear to notice.  Tanuki frowned and slid a spoon across the counter.  At least the other boy had stopped that horrid shaking.

Ken looked up and his wide blue eyes blinked several times before focusing on the white-haired boy in front of him.  

Tanuki leaned over and took a ginger spoonful of his own soup.  "Wonton," he said over the edge of his spoon.  "Be careful.  It's hot."

Ken stared down at his soup blankly.  His hands trembled slightly as he clumsily gripped the spoon and slowly stirred his soup.  He had declined a pair of dry clothes from the Coon as they didn't fit him quite right and his pants were beginning to dry, clinging to his thighs and making him feel stiff and dusty.

He took a sip of his broth and dropped his spoon back into the bowl.  He folded his hands on the counter and stared down at his red knuckles.  "You never answered my question that day."

Tanuki looked up sharply and scowled.  "What?  What question?"

Ken smiled whimsically.  "That day on the steps.  The butterfly?"

"What about it?" the American demanded uncomfortably.

"Mmmm . . ." Ken laid his head down on his hands and his eyes fluttered shut.  "So what do you think it's all for?  If there's no point I mean . . ."

Tanuki shrugged and settled back on his stool.  "Maybe that _is_ the point then."

"Don't be so existential," the indigo-haired boy muttered.

"It's an existential question," the Coon retorted.  He ran a hand back through his short white hair.  "What I mean is that maybe we have to make our own points, find our own reason to live."

"Your optimism is heart-warming, Rat, but is doesn't change the inevitable outcome."  Ken opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.  "It's all a game then, so what's the point?"

A delicate white eyebrow arched slightly.  "Would you rather there be no point at all?  If so, then nothing and no one matters.  Love, hate, the past, the present, the future . . . all of them are meaningless.  Everything is hopeless."

"No.  Not meaningless."  Ken smiled that strange distant smile again.  "Just . . . what it is."

Tanuki leaned forward.  "Are you okay, Ken-kun?"

Ken ignored his question.  "So what meaning do you ascribe to this whole mess?"

"Hmmm . . ." Tanuki stabbed a wonton.  "Success.  The desire to defeat one's opponent.  Distinguishing oneself above the masses.  To succeed where others fail."  He smiled and his eyes glittered coldly.  "The look of shock and despair on the face of the vanquished . . .?  Exquisite."

"So the game itself is the point then?"

"Yes.  I suppose so."

Ken's eyes softened to liquid aqua and his mouth twisted slightly.  He leaned forward and gripped Tanuki's wrist pleadingly.  The spoon clattered to the bowl with a splash.  "But what happens if you lose?"

"What?"  Tanuki tried to pull back, but Ken's grip was like steel.  "What do you mean?"

"If you lose . . ." His grasp tightened.  "If you lose, what do you do?  How do you get back into the game?"

The boy blinked in surprise and tugged halfheartedly at his wrist.  "Lose?"  His brow furrowed as though he had suddenly been faced with something new and inconceivable.  "Lose?  You don't . . . _lose . . ."_

Ken's grip tightened and his voice was a whisper.  "But what if you _do?"_

Tanuki jerked his wrist back looked away.  For a moment there was a thick uncomfortable silence and Ken settled back in his stool and began to study the floor.

His voice was rough and uneven.  "Minokichi . . ."

The Coon's head snapped up at the sound of his given name.  No one ever called him that.  Not even Ken—_especially not his Ken._

The dark haired boy closed his eyes slowly bit his lip until a tiny drop of ruby appeared at the ivory tip of one sharp tooth.  "I . . ."

"You went over my head!" the American snarled, suddenly enraged.  

Ken looked up, eyes round in surprise.

"What was I supposed to do?"  Tanuki continued.  "To say?  You chose him over me!  You went to him and all you ever had to was _tell me to, Ken!  Goddamnit, you just went right over my head!  It doesn't work like that.  You can't let another person just walk in like . . . like . . ." He trailed off abruptly, as though realizing what he had just said._

"I know."  Ken's eyes softened and stood.  "I had to."

Tanuki's bowl went flying across the room and shattered against the far wall with a crack.  Wonton soup went everywhere, sliding down the peach paint and staining the plush carpeting.  The slender teen's voice was a roar over the thunder that crashed outside.  "_Like fuck you did!_"

He slid off the stool and leapt over the counter to stand before his friend.  Despite the fact that they were only separated by an inch and a half in height, Tanuki seemed to loom over Ken imposingly and a dark sneering scowl disfigured his face.  He gripped the other boy's chin in his hand painfully and tilted his bruised face upwards so that they were staring in one another's eyes.

"Bastard!"  He hissed decisively.  Ken's hands curled into fists, but remained hanging limply at his sides as Tanuki continued.  "Bastard!  You didn't have to!  Things were fine!  I was there—was always there.  I showed you, didn't I?  I was there for you, not him!  And you let him do this to you?!  **_To me?!_**  What the fuck were you thinking?  He's nowhere near us and you allowed this—this—treachery?!"

The shorter teen gripped Tanuki's wrist and twisted it painfully, forcing the other boy to his knees with a strangled cry of pain.  His eyes remained a soft shimmering cross between blue, gray, and hitherto unknown green.  Tanuki glared up at him from his feet.

"What would you have done for me, Minokichi-kun?" Ken murmured as he stared down at him sadly.  

"Whatever I had to!  You know that, goddamnit!  You've always known that!"

Ken twisted Tanuki's arm a bit more, earning a groan of pain.  "Would you have lived for me?"

"Yes!"

"Would you have bled for me?"

"Yes!"

"Would you have died for me?"

"Yes!"

"And would you have loved me, Minokichi-kun?  _Me_?"  Ken's eyes gleamed in the soft 70-watt light.  "For always?"

They stared at one another in silence for a moment until Tanuki dropped his head in defeat.   Ken released him with a sigh and turned away.

Tanuki rubbed his bruised wrist and blinked back the tears he refused to acknowledge building in his eyes.  "Bastard . . ."

He climbed to his feet and went to clean up the mess he had made when he threw his bowl across the room as Ken calmly finished his lukewarm soup in silence.   Dishes clattered in the ominous quiet as the boy finished clearing up the spill and returned to his friend.  Ken pushed his bowl away and slid off the stool as Tanuki came to stand beside him.

"Could you have?" He watched Tanuki intently with boy a very odd look for a moment and then smiled a smile that could have moved the Earth.  "Tanuki-kun . . .?"

Coon glared at him.  "Ken-kun . . . You're not yourself right now.  You don't know what you're saying.  Go lay down and get some more sleep."

Ken laughed then, not his usual sneer, but genuine laughter that boiled up out of his chest and spilled out from between his lips.  He put his hands on Tanuki' shoulders and leaned forward to gently press his lips against the other boy's in a chaste kiss.  After a moment, he pulled away again and smiled at the brilliant flush that painted the Coon's face.  "You can't always save me, Tanuki-kun."

The American stared.  "Ken—"

The smile on the bruised boy's face stretched painfully.  "It's okay, Tanuki-kun.  Really."

Because in the end, it really wasn't okay.  And that was just fine.

**------------- & -------------**

A fairly small, benevolent virus lay on a sunny rock in the Digital World.  Ken had not come by yesterday.  Nor the day before.  But surely he would come today.  He never went more than three or four days without visiting Wormmon.  This week would be no exception.  So Wormmon waited.

Ever since the day the Hanamura woman had come and Ken had returned him to the Digital World, Wormmon had pretty much lived near this rock.  Too many digimon remembered the ravages of the Kaiser and all of them seemed to recognize the little green insect type that had been the human's constant companion.  Wormmon was no longer welcome in the Digital World and he knew it.  Ken had asked him if he had made any friends and Wormmon had lied and said that he hadn't seen any digimon yet.

He had seen plenty of digimon thus far.  And every single one of them had attacked him.  But Ken had enough to worry about now—he didn't need Wormmon's silly fears to handle too.  And Ken always came back to him.  Always. So he really didn't have anything to worry about.  His human meant worlds to him—literally.  He refused to burden the boy more than necessary.

But Wormmon was more than a little bit afraid, and not just for Ken.  He didn't dare leave the rock because of the other digimon.  They were reluctant to come so near to the place were the former Kaiser was so frequently spotted, but Wormmon was quickly running out of food.  Ken always brought something with him when he came, but it had been a while since the last visit . . . And the odds of some passing digimon taking pity on him and bringing food were slim to none.  Plus, what would happen if Ken came and Wormmon wasn't here?  From everything the little virus had seen, the Digital World was gradually but surely sliding into chaos.  If the former Kaiser appeared and went tramping off in search of his partner, he'd certainly be attacked.  What would he do without Wormmon there to defend him . . .?

No.  It was best to wait here.  The hunger was nothing—a thin, passing thing.  He had suffered worse for his Ken-chan.  He would suffer anything for Ken-chan.  Anything.

Ken would come back for him.  Ken always came back for him.

And so Wormmon heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the very earth itself and he waited.

**------------------ & ------------------**

**Chapter Fourteen:**

**The Wings of a Butterfly**

**_Taichi pursues.  Ken escapes._**

**_"Believe the eternal power can make a difference.  Absolutely, absolutely, the difference seems . . ."_**

****

**------------------ & ------------------**


End file.
